


Song of the Sea

by kuzumakisai



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Mermaids, Originally said lotor's neutral but nah he's a bad guy, Romance, Siren Lance, at first, i'll add tags as i go along lol, idk what to tag i'm sorry, keith is confused and so so gay, keith is keeping a major secret, lance is scary and dangerous, lost at sea, pirate keith, slowish burn, they're.....gonna fall in love and it's gonna be complicated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-04 12:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14593044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuzumakisai/pseuds/kuzumakisai
Summary: After a daring escape from the Empire's crew that had been holding him hostage, Keith is desperate to get away and find his own crew, lost somewhere on the open sea. Little did he know, those waiting beneath the waves had other plans.(haha I can't write summaries for shit...but yeah, cue Keith somehow befriending a bloodthirsty siren.)





	1. Prologue

The sea is alight with thunder and lightning.

 

  
Dark waves churn, reflecting the burst of flame that had erupted from a barrage of cannon fire to the main mast. Shouts ring and clash, the two ships scurrying to defeat the other, all the while trying to survive the ocean's wrath. Lightning cracks again with more ferocity, loud and dangerous and chaotic.

 

  
Perfect for the Hunt.

 

  
Lance is late, that much he knows. The water is already tinged with blood when he rounds an outcrop of undersea rock, tendrils of red swirling into the deep. The smell elicits a fury in the merfolk, Lance's own teeth becoming razor sharp within his mouth.

 

  
He can hear the screams and splashes, the vibration of his people surging through the water. Someone passes him now, her mouth already bloodied, sharp nailed hands holding tight to a sailor. His throat is practically nonexistent, shredded to pieces, her hunger having taken over before she could lull him into a calming state.

 

  
Lance grimaces, practically tasting the bitter flesh himself.

 

  
Although it had been several years since his first Hunt, the thrill never lessened. Even now, as he eyes a man kicking frantically above, he can feel the thrum of his own heart. Beating with the tide, knocking against his rib cage with the thunder.

 

  
His hand shoots out fast, grasping the man's booted ankle before tugging him below, mouth quickly gaping and filling with salt water. Lance gets a stronger hold around his midsection and uses his tail to push them deeper, only stopping when he knows the man is close to drowning.

 

  
It's always the same, the way Lance tries to hide his teeth. If only for a moment, he wants the sailor to see him as something vaguely similar.

 

  
But, _Gods_ , Lance is hungry.

 

  
The sailor's eyes are bloodshot and wide, pupils blown as he watches Lance begin to lose control, the siren wanting nothing more than to rip his throat out in a fury. He doesn't care about the bitter fear in the sailor's blood, the tinge of something too bitter on the flesh. His teeth, now sharp as a Great White's, unhinge-

 

  
His ears twitch, perking at a distant sound.

 

  
Amidst the bloodbath, away from the screams of the human's and the shrieks of the merfolk, a ripple brushes the surface of the toiling sea. Lance's ears shift again, latching onto the sound, searching deeper; listening harder.

 

  
Until, just as the sailor in his grip finally succumbs to the water filling his lungs, Lance can hear the beat of another organ. Fast paced and fluttery, hurried as a gull in flight.

 

  
Something akin to anger strikes through Lance, his fins expanding in a predatory shudder at the thought of someone getting away. The body of the sailor slips from his grasp but Lance doesn't even watch him sink, not caring to see the siren who will take his place to finish the meal. His tail sends him shooting forward, strong pushes of muscle helping him cut through swift currents and avoid bulky debris.

 

  
Another explosion rocks the waves but Lance doesn't bother turning to see if one of the ships have tipped, if his people are climbing the sides to pull stragglers from their faux safe decks.

 

  
The further he gets from the attack, the clearer the beating heart becomes. Splashes accompany rag-tag breath, a scraping of wood upon wood has Lance's skin prickling.

 

  
He follows and follows, allowing a hint of pure curiosity to trickle into his mind. Curiosity for who it could be, how they managed to escape, where they _possibly_ think they could go in a storm like this.

 

  
They either have a death wish or, Lance begrudgingly admits, idiotically brave determination.

 

  
Lance turns beneath the water and wades beneath the shadow above, showing his stomach to the surface as the small rowboat stops its incessant venture. He wonders if the sailor saw him somehow, if the bright color of his tail reflected off of the waves.

 

  
Though in the end, he knows it won't matter.

 

  
Now that he's further from the Hunt, Lance can feel his blood fall from a boil to a simmer. The hunger is still there, a nasty tug in his gut, but it's more controllable.

 

  
It's docile in the wake of his discovery.

 

  
He circles with languid strokes of his tail, the length almost double that of the rowboat. Suddenly, just as he debates surfacing, the oars are back in the water from where they had been pulled in.

 

They hit fast, one almost knocking Lance in the jaw.

 

  
Snarling, he reaches a hand out and yanks, wanting nothing more than to snap the wood with his teeth. Only, the oar pulls away harder. It slips from Lance's webbed fingers and continues on, as if nothing had even happened.

 

  
A rare little spark ignites in Lance's chest, a feeling he'd not had for years suddenly returning to him in a small burst of color.

 

  
The Merfolk enjoy the Hunt. _He_ enjoys it. It's inside of them, this nature in which they feed. They turn into a frenzy like sharks, all other thought thrown far from any sensibility they could've had. But beneath the flurry of hunger and tribe mentality, there is another thing they enjoy.

 

  
They like to play.

 

  
Lance swims to the other side of the boat and chases the oar, intent on catching it and giving the human a disadvantage. He wants him defenseless, a loser in their game; an easier target for Lance to drag beneath the waves when the time comes.

 

  
But his fingers miss each time, the oar moving at ridiculously quick speeds. Lance huffs, bubbles rising from his gills on either side of his ribcage.

 

  
His humor may be ill-intended, it may appear more as a predator stalking unsuspecting prey than a harmless little distraction, but Lance has never cared about how it appears to others. It'd been too long since he'd risked his meal getting away, even longer still since a creature other than his eel or his closest friends have made him want to laugh.

 

  
He follows the boat further and further, until the Hunt is so distant it's nothing more than soundless vibration running along his skin. He follows until the storm has died down and evening dusk has given way to full night, clouds slowly passing over a bright round moon.

 

  
He follows until the sailor in the boat gives out from exhaustion.

 

  
And then, when he hears the telltale sound of oars hitting the interior, of a body slumping to rest, he trails a hand along the boat. His fingers feel the rough wood and barnacles, the bits of slime closer to the bottom. Swimming to the very tip, Lance waits for the sailor's breathing to even out before allowing his own body to surface.

 

  
He blinks rapidly, always unused to the feel of air upon his eyes. It stings just a bit, biting at the pupil and the thick of his lashes, but it's easy enough to ignore. Using his hands, he carefully pushes himself up, muscles shifting as the top half of his body tries to deal with the weight of gravity.

 

  
Beneath the water, it's easy. He floats and soars, flips and spins and dives.

 

  
Here, on the edge of the boat, he must balance. Water falls away from his body as he takes a deep breath through his nose, normally a rather useless appendage considering he relies on his gills for the filtering of water and oxygen. It burns and he hisses, fins flaring a bit on his elbows.

 

  
But, eventually, the pain subsides. The blurry film over his eyes clear.

 

  
He drags himself over the side of the boat, large tail shining beneath the moon, scales thankfully slick enough to keep from doing any damage to the flesh beneath. He uses his hands to inch forward, blue eyes alight with curiosity at the human passed out before him.

 

  
Lance gets close enough to smell the sweat and salt and copper upon his skin, unknowing of the boundaries meant to separate them. Instead, he leans further, head tilting to study the blood trailing from the boy's forehead. Dark, thick hair brushes his shoulders, clumped with the sticky red. The smell makes Lance want to bite, to finally eat and be done with it.

 

  
His teeth are still sharp, ready to rip and tear and consume.

 

  
But he stops himself.

 

  
He waits.

 

  
And as the boy shifts, a silver locket falling from his torn shirt, Lance eyes it.

 

  
And he smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Something is watching him.

 

  
Keith can feel it like a sword pointed at the nape of his neck. Even now, as he wakes from a complete black out, the ocean is much too quiet. The storm has long since passed, all cannon fire and clashing of sword upon sword lost to whatever depths they had been dragged into. In the wake, there is only the rocking of his small rowboat, the soft slap of water on the wood and his slow shallow breathing.

 

  
Escaping the ship had been easy.

 

Too easy, considering every other attempt had been a complete failure. Waking in the brig to the sound of a fight lit his veins on fire, his first thought being that his crew had somehow found him. That his endless days spent staring at a piss poor excuse of a guard were over; that he could take his sword and pass his own judgement upon their heads.

 

  
As such, Keith had never been very lucky.

 

  
The differing crews that fought on either side of him had dropped like coins into a rich man's pocket. Whether it be the extreme tilting of the ships or the blasts of gunpowder, Keith saw them topple and shout- some screaming to look at the water.

 

  
Keith managed to steal a rowboat before he'd even thought of heeding any warnings.

 

  
Now, he supposes he should have.

 

  
Maybe then he could have been prepared. He wouldn't have stared back at the ships tilting under the weight of an army of fabled merfolk, he could have avoided gaining the abrasion on his skull from an unsuspecting man trying to pull him beneath the waves.

 

  
He could have spotted the swift moving creature headed his way.

 

  
Now, as he wakes to a slow-rising sun, he can only be thankful to whatever deity currently rules the sea that he didn't become minced meat. A memory of the gnarly sharp teeth that had snapped at his face makes him grimace, head pounding when he tries to pull himself into a seated position, hand automatically reaching for the heavy silver locket hanging from his neck. He runs the jewelry between his fingertips before letting it fall back. The slump he'd been in made his shoulders ache and his neck cramp, two things that he didn't need if he planned on finding land anytime soon.

 

  
Looking to the shadowy water, he tries and fails to ignore the haunting feeling crawling up his spine. His mind plays tricks, gaze following suit, until each small undulation of water looks like a pair of eyes staring up at him.

 

  
Through the fog of his memory, he recalls feeling something tug at his oar. As exhausted and close to collapse as he'd been, it seems only to be a guess that it'd even happened at all. Still, it replays in his mind, bringing with it the flash of blue that had shimmered near the tip of his boat, the bump on the left hand side that made him grip his oars tighter; made him row even faster.

 

  
Shaking his head, Keith looks for the small satchel of water he'd pulled from the ship before his escape. It's easy enough to lunge for it and take a few hearty gulps. In a few hours, the sun will rise above his head and he'll bake beneath it, already anticipating the taut burns he'll receive on his skin.

 

  
For a pirate, you'd think he wouldn't have as much trouble with the sun as he does.

 

Even among his own crew there had always been a flurry of jokes that left him snapping, even if he ended up snorting at the irony of it all.

 

 _Red as fruit!_ They would laugh,  _Ripe as a tomato in need of picking!_

 

  
The thought of his crew snaps him out of his daze and he snatches the satchel away from his lips before he allows himself to drink it all. Instead, he takes a seat and grabs the oars on either side of him. They're heavy in his hands but he dismisses his worry, even going so far as to ignore another sharp burst of pain at his temple. A smarter man would check for an open wound, for a gash or puncture.

 

  
But Keith doesn't have time.

 

  
He just has to row. To use his muscles and push himself forward, leaving the distant blood soaked waters far behind.

 

  
Looking ahead, he can only hope he's going the right way. The stars have vanished and the wind is eerily calm, the only other sight than the expanse of ocean being the burst of color on the horizon.

 

Reds and oranges stretch on either side of the low glowing sun, diamond cut waves creating an oceanic cosmos.

 

Keith cherishes the cool morning before it's gone, taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, and rows on.

 

 

***

 

 

By the time the sun starts to set in the Western sky, Keith wants to scream. He wants to throw his oars into the ocean and jump, letting the cool depths take him wherever it wishes. Or maybe he wants to fly, to find a passing ship and climb to the crow's nest, to find a way to jump even higher.

 

  
Seeing that he can do neither, he drops his oars into the boat and pushes his palms against his eyes, willing them to stop watering with each blink. The torn shirt he'd been in for days rests close by, completely useless and much too thick to provide cover without the fear of a heat stroke. His hair is a mess upon his head, reminding him that blood and salt and ash mingles with the strands to morph into terrible knots.

 

  
Being a pirate had never been particularly easy.

 

  
In the beginning, he didn't care for the ocean at all. It was a distant thought, a passing glance in the evening smog. The Bay full of ships were background noise to his survival, the storms that blew in during the hottest months reminding him why he hated it so much in the first place.

 

  
But it was scary, the way his entire world slid from the dirty streets of the Empire's Capitol city to the very water he so loathed. One moment he'd been scrounging for change or fighting off other children at the orphanage and the next he was given a sword- told to fight. Told to sneak and steal, to pull at heavy rope and rest in scratchy, sandy beds in strange port towns.

 

  
A slightly crazed laugh escapes his chapped lips, the heat of the day having worn him down to the bone. New blisters rise on his palms from the oars, a deep sunburn stretches across his arms and shoulders and the crests of his cheeks.

 

  
Yeah, being a pirate had never been easy.

 

  
But losing yourself to the sea is harder.

 

  
With a huff, Keith gets to his feet and cups his hands over his mouth, letting out a booming scream. Call it desperation, call it looming madness, all that matters is his energy being spent to the last drop. If he can get the swelling panic and anger to subside, he can allow himself another deep sleep.

 

  
He screams until his throat runs dry, until it itches and cracks and burns, until he can't tell if the wetness falling from his eyes is the fault of the stinging blinks or simply himself.

 

  
The sun slips beneath the horizon in a flash, the sudden darkness forcing Keith to take a deep breath and try to calm himself down. The loss of sight, at least for the time being, leaves him reeling. He doesn't like the dark, at least not in a place like this. Each wave looks like something passes underneath, each splash in the distance sounds like the incoming attack of an undersea army.

 

  
He sits and picks his oar up like a weapon, cursing himself for not grabbing a damn sword. The missing blade makes him antsy, eyes wandering to and fro in an endless search of threat.

 

  
But eventually, no matter how hard he tries, there's no escaping the need for rest. His eyes flutter, growing slower and slower with each blink until he's made up his mind to lay back as comfortably as he can.

 

  
Above him, the stars have made their return, littering his view in the thousands.

 

  
He looks toward the largest constellation- The Serpent- and follows the tail to the East. To the last place he'd been with his crew and his ship.

 

  
With his best friend.

 

  
He doesn't bother searching for any other trail of starlight. The Serpent is enough, just as it always has been, to lead him home.

 

  
And without another thought, he's closing his eyes and drifting into sleep.

 

 

***

 

 

When Keith wakes for the third time within twenty four hours, it's still dark. The stars have become clearer and the air cooler, the rocking of his boat even calmer than before. But it's not the sight or the feel of the night that has him frozen-

 

  
It's the voice.

 

  
Like a song of the sea, it hums in a slow tune, something sad and haunting and so beautiful it could bring a King to his knees.

 

  
In the back of his mind, Keith knows the voice is anything but tender. Where it rises and falls, so do the teeth that accompany it.

 

  
Where he wants nothing more than for it to lull him back to sleep, it instead keeps him wide awake.

 

  
Every man, woman and child has heard of sirens.

 

  
Tales told around bed and within the city pubs had created a murky picture at best. People would laugh and make fun, scoff and wave a disbelieving hand. But Keith remembers each story vividly, the men and women who'd spun them jumping onto tables and knocking back bottles of aged rum. His small hands had been dirty and bruised but his eyes were clear and bright, staring up in wonder, wanting nothing more than to see one of the beautiful people who supposedly aided wary sailor's in their voyages. 

 

  
Sitting up now, Keith foolishly looks for something that fits the memories. As if the previous night had never happened, as if one of the creatures hadn't been lunging for his throat, he searches desperately for a saving grace.

 

  
He never expected the eyes to already be staring at him.

 

  
Feet away, covered in shadow, a figure watches. Keith furrows his brows and shifts closer to the edge of the boat, the voice latching onto his chest and giving a mighty tug. His hand grips one of the oars but he couldn't use it as a weapon even if he'd wanted to.

 

  
All he can do is lean forward, yearn for the voice and the sea in a way he never truly has before- as if all worries and hardships would be put to rest if he simply left this tiny boat.

 

  
The figure's eyes are glowing the way some jellyfish do after the sun has set. Deep blue, unblinking as it sways in time with the ocean.

 

  
And then it is gone.

 

  
Slipping back beneath the waves, the song cuts short and Keith yanks himself away from the edge with a gasp, reality slamming into him like frigid water poured upon his head. He scrambles and holds the oar in front of his chest, turning in slow circles, the open expanse at his back feeling more and more like a target.

 

  
He waits for clawed hands to pull at his arms. He waits for a body to lunge at his own, tail heavy as it propels the monster forward.

 

  
Suddenly, with no other warning than a small burst of bubbles rising to the top of the water, the glowing blue resurfaces. Only this time it's much, much closer.

 

.  
Keith takes a small step back, trying to put distance between him and the Siren now wading beside the boat.

 

  
They stare at each other, though Keith is no doubt the most frightened of the two. He clenches his teeth and tries to brace himself, knowing he'll have to rely on his own wits and strength to fend the creature off.

 

  
It moves closer and Keith tenses, his vision slowly growing used to the dark. He makes out the sharp jawline leading to the high ears, pointed and webbed at the tip. Dark brown skin is littered with scales like a human would have freckles, though Keith can see the trailing of them leading further down the creatures neck.

 

  
A neck that is, surprisingly, clear of gills.

 

  
In the stories, the Sirens always had a neck covered in gills.

 

  
"You look frightened."

 

  
He isn't expecting the voice, so different from the humming he'd awoken to earlier. Smooth and conniving, taunting in the roll of an accent he could never hope to place.

 

  
"As do you." Keith forces out, mouth turning to a grim line.

 

  
The siren lets out a strange noise but Keith catches a flash of razor sharp teeth, slightly smaller than that of the man who'd tried to tear into Keith's flesh the night before. When another little noise escapes the Siren's lips, effectively pulling his attention away from the teeth, realization dawns that the thing is  _laughing_ at him.

 

  
He holds the oar tighter, eyes following the Siren as he pushes himself through the water, wading on his back in a slow circle. Keith can't help but think of a shark, of a carnivorous beast playing with its food.

 

  
"I fear no sailor." The siren's tail breaches the surface, pulling Keith's attention like a moth to flame, "I fear no _pirate_."

 

  
The word makes Keith turn fast, silently berating himself for falling into the distraction.

 

  
The sight of the siren, forearms settled onto the side of the boat so he can rest his chin upon them, steals the breath from Keith's lungs. One more lunge and he'll be grabbed, pulled into the deep and devoured-

 

  
"You are a pirate, aren't you?"

 

  
Keith nods, hoping to keep the thing talking until he can think of a way out of this.

 

  
The siren hums and tilts his head, brown hair falling across his cheek, "I can smell the sea in your blood."

 

  
"What-"

 

  
"Sailors simply smell of fish and strange smoke, always yearning for land, eager to deliver silly little reports that eventually crumble with the waves. _You_ smell of the water. Of the storm. It's rather pleasant." He smiles again, a wicked lift of his lips even though the teeth have seemingly shrunk into something feigning normalcy, "Beneath all of the stench, of course."

 

  
"What do you want?" Keith asks, wanting nothing more than to be left alone.

 

  
The siren's eyes narrow, "I want your name."

 

  
"No." Keith growls.

 

  
"Would you like me to come up with one, then?" The siren hisses, temper flaring almost as quickly as Keith's, "I can give you something appropriate, something floppy just like that hair upon your head."

 

Keith thinks of ramming his oar into the Siren's face and waiting for him to resurface, taking the chance to slam it into his temple next. He glances at the tail wading back and forth beside the ship, tranquil to anyone who hadn't seen it used to drag people into the abyss within seconds. 

 

"You wish to kill me." The Siren speaks again, "I can see the way your eyes flare, bright like fire. You have a plan. A stupid plan."

 

Keith sneers, "Hurry up and attack, if that's what you wish to do-"

 

"I don't want to kill you." The Siren snaps, effectively interrupting Keith, "On the contrary, I'm rather interested in both of us  _living."_

 

"Swim away, then." Keith nods toward the open ocean, "And I'll row on."

 

The Siren rolls his eyes, "You'll be dead in a matter of hours once the sun rises. Your body can't handle the heat, you can't drink this water." He hums, "You're rather fragile, aren't you?"

 

Before Keith can reply, the Siren is pushing away from the boat, making it tilt dangerously to the side. Panic seizes Keith and he tries to steady himself, unable to take his eyes away from the tail that slowly passes beside him. Like a monster all on it's own, the scales reflect the light of the moon in a kaleidoscope of color: blue and green and silver.

 

"Wait here." The Siren says, smirking at Keith when he finally glances up from the tail.

 

The Siren's eyes trail from Keith's boots to his shirtless torso before finally resting on his face.

 

And then he is gone, leaving Keith to the dark. 

 

To the silence. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much trouble trying to upload this chapter, it was ridiculous. 
> 
> But anyway...
> 
> Is Lance actually planning on helping Keith survive? Will Keith try to kill Lance? Will Lance try to kill Keith?? :)
> 
> I try to make Lance a bit scary, or at the most a bit eerie, considering he's dangerous as fuck. More about Siren culture and beliefs etc, will be explained as the chapters go on. Keith's backstory will play a large role as time goes on, the reason he was separated from his crew will come to light, hints at the huge secret he's keeping will start to appear and both of them will become fascinated with each other's worlds (and, cough, each other) before things get really messy (and deathly dangerous) again! 
> 
> Next chapter POV: Lance. (The chapters will go back and forth between their point of views, maybe a few other characters every now and then.) Said characters will be showing up eventually! 
> 
>  


	3. Chapter 3

The first time Lance killed someone, he wasn't particularly happy about it. 

 

It had been a calm night when he was awoken, the blue luminescence of the undersea valley shifting with the passing of his people. They were eerily quiet, tails swaying in languid motion, spears held firmly in tight grips. 

 

Looking back, he supposes he'd had no other choice. Siren's have killed humans for thousands of years, though contrary to the land dweller's beliefs, the reason was hardly ever as simple as the need for a full belly. 

 

More often than not, it was for the sake of their own protection and territory- a reminder to any rare survivors that they were never welcome in these waters. Lance knew this, even as his older brother shook him awake and led him from the deep caves to join the Hunt for the first time.

 

Shimmering light from the seabed filtered through the water, casting reflection and shadow in shades of blue and green. They swam as a pod, the youngest trailing behind, finally allowed to venture beyond the molten springs on the outskirts of the Kingdom. 

 

Lance glances at one, the glowing orange sending up rippling heatwaves, beckoning for him to drift down and settle on top; to warm his tail. 

 

Instead, he was given a spear and told to be ready. To avoid the surface and take out those that fell into the water, for they were easier to drown. 

 

The ship amazed Lance, though he never admitted it. The hulking mass of wood drifted above like some kind of beast, creaking through the water, making Lance's bright eyes follow as it passed overhead. 

 

Above the water, Lance could hear the humming. The voices of his people leading the sailor's to the edge, to the depths and the death that soon awaits. It didn't take long after that for their pod leader to send out a high trill, something that Lance had never heard before. One moment he was staring in amazement, wondering if perhaps they didn't really  _need_ to slaughter them at all. 

 

Perhaps they could let them sail on, oblivious to the deep.

 

And then, with another trill, he felt the Frenzy. The uncontrollable obedience ordering them to  _feed._

 

It came upon all of them fast and spears flew beside his head in flashes of sharp coral, sending a current of water to push his hair forward. Lethal tips slammed into the human's that fell to the waves, blood as dark as the sky erupting from their chests and bellies; cloudy and violent.

 

"You must kill one." His brother said, swimming up beside him to place a hand on his shoulder, "At least one."

 

Lance didn't understand how his brother could talk. The most Lance could do was hold his spear tighter, grind his teeth harder. Another trill curled through the air only this time, Lance couldn't help but surge forward. 

 

Many of the older Siren's didn't use spears, instead taking to the human crew with sharp nails and sharper teeth. More skilled and proficient in the Hunt, they had no need for weapons. 

 

Lance's frantic eyes caught on a woman falling lower and lower, her red hair flowing about her face in a blossom of color. 

 

Color he'd rarely ever seen, so bright it could have practically come from the sun itself. 

 

He dropped his spear and dove deeper, hands already reaching for her own. 

 

It was easy to lace their fingers, for him to pull her up just enough so that he could study her face. Young, probably as young as he, and clear of any worry or pain. Bubbles rose from her mouth and Lance startled, not having expected her to still be alive. 

 

For a fleeting, foolish moment, he debated dragging her away. To fight the chaos in his own mind and swim her to a lone island near the Far Reefs, safe from the hellscape taking place behind him. His hand rose to her face and he let it rest, dark brown skin contrasting to that of her own. 

 

It surprised him, how similar they seemed. 

 

"Lance!"

 

He froze at the shout of his name, the pod leader's presence falling across his shoulders in a dark shadow. The man is all muscle and strength, relying on brute force to lead his people through a Hunt with no casualties. 

 

"You've yet to kill her."

 

Lance pulls her closer and turns to the pod leader, "She wants to live."

 

"Oh?" The pod leader hisses again, the timbre of his voice sending a stern vibration running the length of Lance's tail, "Did she tell you so?" 

 

'No-"

 

"They've crossed our waters." The pod leader interrupts, "They threaten us, we do what we must."

 

Lance had heard it a thousand times,  _Do what we must, keep us from their nets-_

 

Looking down at the girl, he wants nothing more than to press his lips to her own. To give her the means to breathe. 

 

To live. 

 

But he could see her entire face going slack as her lungs, those sacks made only for air, began to fill with water. 

 

"You must finish it." The pod leader orders. 

 

And before Lance can disagree, a low trill flows slowly through the water and into his ears. He fights it, of course. He tries to push her away, to tear his webbed fingers from her skin and use his tail to propel him back home. 

 

The order is all consuming. 

 

And it's funny, the way Lance could feel something hot swell in his eyes. He'd heard of human's leaking water, the drops salty on their cheeks, like the ocean had held on to them in a desperate little way. 

 

But before he could do anything else, his teeth had been bloodied. 

 

It was over.

 

***

 

The boy is strange. 

 

Lance returns to the small boat two hours before sunrise, his search having been deemed successful.

 

Earlier, Lance had been shocked from his dozing near the seabed by a shattering scream, the sound only slightly muffled by the separation of water and air. For a moment, he thought the boy had been speared. That one of Lance's people had followed and finally decided to attack, to end whatever this game is that Lance feels so compelled to play. 

 

Instead, when Lance had carefully maneuvered to see the boy, there was no fresh blood. No coral spear protruding from a chest, no Siren dragging his limp body far away.

 

The boy was simply tired. 

 

Defeated. 

 

For a moment, Lance considered taking his chance. He wanted to sink his teeth into the boy's throat. He wanted to see the boy's dark hair float softly beneath the water. 

 

But then the boy gave up, face no longer illuminated by the setting sun. All had gone dark; all was quiet. 

 

Now, Lance grimaces at the feel of the prickly plant in his hand as he swims back to the boat, slightly shocked that the boy hadn't tried to row the second Lance slipped away. He takes a moment to listen for movement, for the sharpening of some hidden blade he hadn't spotted upon their first encounter. 

 

Soft, slow breaths remain steady. 

 

So, Lance surfaces. 

 

He takes his time swimming up to the edge of the boat, careful not to let it so much as shift too far in either direction while he places his forearms upon it. The plant falls from his grip and hits the floor with a small thud. 

 

The boy's face isn't relaxed like Lance thought it'd be but by the rise and fall of his shoulders, he can tell that he's in a deep sleep. 

 

His dark, thick brows are furrowed. Hair windswept and dirty, face still splotched with dried blood. Lance tilts his head on his arms and glances down at his chest, eyeing the locket. 

 

It's pretty, if not a bit rusted. Lance feels his fingers twitch, the need to snatch it from the boy's neck almost too much of a temptation. But he refrains, swearing to himself that he can stay in control, that he's not some  _guppy_ fresh to the world. 

 

Now that neither of them are talking, Lance can appreciate the curve of his the boy's lashes. Dark and shadowed upon his sunburnt cheeks, mouth curved down into a pretty pout, neck long and shoulders corded in lithe muscle. 

 

Yeah, pretty. 

 

Lance lets out an involuntary hum, the sound seemingly too loud compared to the soft ripples made by his swaying tail. 

 

The boy shifts and takes a large breath, eyes fluttering open in earnest confusion. Lance watches his eyes roam the pale morning sky, following the shape of single wispy cloud. 

 

And then he is turning and leaping up, forcing Lance to push away from the boat in fear of it rising to knock his teeth together. 

 

"Morning." Lance hums again, staring up at him. 

 

"Why are you  _smiling?"_ The boy hisses, glancing toward the oar next to his feet. 

 

Lance tries to close his mouth, to hide his teeth. 

 

"I thought you weren't going to come back." The boy continues, sleep heavy in his voice, "I planned to row after I woke-"

 

"Seems I beat you to it." Lance comes closer, ears perking at the sound of the boy's rapid heartbeat, "Aren't you thirsty?" 

 

The boy hesitates, as if he wanted to agree but refused to do so. 

 

Lance rolls his eyes and wades lazily around the boat, eager to let his tail rest a bit after such a lengthy swim, "The plant has fresh water." He says, indicating with a small nod toward the interior of the boat. 

 

The boy glances at the plant by his feet and takes much too long to decide what to do, until Lance is almost ready to take the damned thing back. But then, as the first few rays of actual heat fall across them both, the boy bends to pick it up.

 

Lance watches him fiddle with it, his brows drawn close as he struggles to figure out how to get the water free. 

 

"All you have to do is ask." Lance teases, wanting to hurry this up so he can slip back to the cool depths before mid-morn.

 

They boy grimaces. 

 

They stare at each other. 

 

And then he is relenting, moving to sit on his knees and hold the plant out, "How do I drink from it?" 

 

Lance grins and hurries to take it, rising it to his lips and biting into the large orange stem with a quick crunch. The snap is loud and his teeth enjoy the pressure, no matter the horrified look on the boy's face. 

 

"Drink from this." Lance explains, licking at the strange taste on his lips, "The water is pure. I plucked this plant from the Trench, where the ground gives way to the sea's life-stream."

 

The boy looks confused but he doesn't ask Lance to clarify. 

 

Their fingers brush when Lance hands the plant back but he tries not to act interested, tries not to be distracted by the dry flesh, before taking a small backward dive. He knows his tail splashes a copious amount of water on the boy by the loud shout that follows. 

 

Lance lets out a laugh, causing a distant school of forage fish to scatter in fear. 

 

 

***

 

Not for the first time, Lance wishes he could stay awake during the day. 

 

Out of every Siren in the Kingdom of Altea, he is the one who loves the sun the most. Almost taboo, considering they swim so deep. The moon is more of a friend to his kind, the gentle silver beams reviving his scales and the core of his energy in a cool caress. 

 

The sun, on the other hand, is made to burn. 

 

But Lance revels in the warmth. Even now, as he wakes after a few measly hours of sleep, he finds himself eager to return to the bright day. The boat remains a rocking motion above and he spots the hint of a bare foot pressed against the ledge. 

 

With no warning to the poor boy, Lance is quick to push himself from the water and place a hand on his ankle. 

 

A shriek pierces the air and Lance's ears twitch at the pitch, nose scrunching, "You sound like a gull again." 

 

The boy looks, for the first time, rather lethal. His pupils are blown, jaw clenched, hand wrapped tight around an oar. It's a reminder to Lance, that the boy has known the sea. That he is well versed in the dangers of a storm and his own two-legged enemies. That he _is_ a pirate. 

 

"Touch me again and I'll skin you for scales." The boy warns. 

 

Lance snarls and uses his arms to push himself further up, crowding into the boat as if he intended on gathering himself inside, "Do you plan to try?" 

 

It wouldn't be the first time, Lance knows, that a Siren had been found in such a brutal way. 

 

The boy drops his shoulders just an inch, but it's more than enough for Lance to slide back down, the cool water encompassing his hips and ribs. His frilled gills open and close with his erratic breathing, the threat of a fight sending his fins to expand in a display of power. 

 

"Have you decided on a name yet?" Lance asks, deciding to keep his distance for the time being. 

 

The boy scowls, "I don't need to  _pick_ a name." 

 

"So you'll let me decide then?" Lance tilts his head, "Perhaps I could name you after an octopus that roams beneath us? With your thin arms-"

 

"If I tell you, will you stop talking?" 

 

Lance frowns and sinks lower, until only his eyes are visible. 

 

The boy waits until he's sure Lance won't rise again before nodding, just once, as if to himself. 

 

Finally, he mutters, "Keith."

 

Lance repeats it in his mind, turning it over and over, feeling it play on his tongue. He tries it out above the water but Keith flinches, the name more of a dark hiss than anything else. 

 

"Well?" Keith squares his shoulders, "Your turn."

 

Lance wades closer, until he has to look up from beneath his lashes to meet Keith's steely gaze, "It's a large deal, for a Siren to give a human their name."

 

Keith's jaw clenches, "Why?" 

 

"It makes everything a bit more difficult." Lance admits, wondering if perhaps he were making a mistake in telling the truth, "I may just end up _liking_ you too much. Siren's have a certain weakness, whether your kind believes it or not, in our curiosity. It has always led us to our deaths."

 

"Why haven't you killed me first, then?" Keith suddenly asks, leaning forward in a way that has Lance reeling back, shocked at the sudden willing proximity, "Why have you brought me water? Where are your people-"

 

"Just because I haven't killed you, Keith, doesn't mean that I don't  _want_ to." Lance flicks a bit of water at the boy's face, watching as a drop falls from his chin. 

 

It's silent for a moment, both of them studying the other. 

 

In the thousands of years that Lance has heard about, through song and tale and magical mirage, he'd never imagined that the meeting of two enemies could be so...simple. There had been the exceptions, of daring friendship and foolish love, always leading to disaster. But he considered them myth, things that the most romantic of them tended to dwell on well into the day. 

 

But now, with miles upon miles separating Lance from the Kingdom beneath the sea, he can't help but wonder if those poetic ventures had even a hint of truth. 

 

"My name, are you certain you wish to know it?" He asks quietly, carefully keeping his sights away from the pulse at the base of the boy's throat, "This could end badly, you know. You could betray my kindness. I could get _hungry_."

 

Keith glances away, only to return Lance's stare a moment later, determined to get what he wants. 

 

Lance should be suspicious. He should be wary. 

 

He should be a lot of things. 

 

Instead, his lips tilt upward into another toothy grin. 

 

"My name," He practically whispers, "is Lance."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhh yeah can any of this end well? Probably not lol.
> 
> This story will be pretty long, at least if it goes the way I plan for it to. Things are starting slow but that definitely won't last forever! Lance's home is Altea and yes, Allura is queen. That will come up soon. Also, it's very cutthroat and harsh, but not as harsh as the other Kingdom that comes into play later...I'm sure you know what Kingdom that is.
> 
> BTW! I post links to chapter updates on my [tumblr](https://seakvng.tumblr.com/) !
> 
> Also, I'm in the process of making a playlist full of music for this fic. I'll post a link in the next chapter update! 
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos!! They mean so much and motivate me SO much!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of talking in this chapter, because I mean, what else is there to do while stuck in the middle of the ocean? The plot will move along a bit slow at first, but it'll pick up pace eventually. Tried to add a bit of humor to this chapter, gotta soak it up before it's gone >:) 
> 
> Here's the playlist for this fic: [ ( updated occasionally ) ](https://open.spotify.com/user/3metma9lofa0q1gyx9ev14egd/playlist/3PtQIBXTDGx3d5kE9y4drx)
> 
> Also, this fanart was submitted to me and I love it a lot [( Here )](https://seakvng.tumblr.com/post/174642277358/woah-thank-you-so-much-for-this-submission)

 

 

 

The sea can be merciless.

  
It can kill and destroy, wreak havoc on quiet coasts and consume entire fleets.

  
His best friend's voice whispers to him like a ghost,  _"The sea will break your heart."_

  
With a sigh, Keith looks away from the expanse of water before him and turns to instead watch the Siren, his lone form floating beneath the crescent moon. The past few days have been strangely peaceful, full of Keith rowing endlessly on, the Siren showing up with plants full of fresh water and fruit to quench his hunger.

  
Though they'd gotten into an argument only last night when Keith threw a recently caught fish back to the waves. He refused to eat it, the slimy open belly more than enough for Keith to consider the consequences. As much as he longed for meat, for the energy, he knew he'd rather be hungry than deathly ill.

  
The Siren, _Lance_ , looked ready to rip Keith's throat out.

  
Keith stares at his tail now, at the scales shifting in that strange shimmer, luminescent and and opalescent. He trails his eyes from fin to hip, lingering at the dark skin and spattering of scales, cheeks growing ridiculously hot at the sight.

  
He shakes his head, as if he could snap himself out of whatever absurd trance the Siren seems to put him in. It's not like Keith to focus on things like lithe hips and sharp cheeks and pretty lips.

  
But the Siren's eyes always shine brighter at night and his fingers trail through the water beside him, content; relaxed and hypnotizing.

  
And the humming has returned.

  
It wraps Keith up, keeps him sated as his lids grow heavy and his shoulders lose their tension. But it's different than before, the soft rise and fall of his voice less of a beckoning call and more of a tranquil chorus.

  
Keith leans his head on his folded arms and shuts his eyes, the rocking of the boat almost lulling him to sleep. Lance stretches his arms far above his head, the fins at his elbows open to push and pull against the water before he swims closer.

  
"Are you asleep?"

  
For a moment, Keith debates answering. He could feign sleep and get Lance to go away, to rid himself of his own traitorous, blatantly stupid thoughts.

  
The water shifts, ripples creating a noise of bursting bubbles and friction.

  
He wonders if he'd be able to trick the Siren should he need to. To turn the situation around so that he's caught off guard by Keith's sudden waking, unable to use his songs before being knocked out cold.

  
The first touch makes Keith flinch, not expecting it at all. The second touch, his mouth is thinning into a hard line, entirely unsure but unwilling to open his eyes- to take the feeling away.

  
Lance's fingers are frigid, like the waves in the north, as if covered by a thin layer of ice. It sends a chill down the length of Keith's spine, goose flesh breaking out across his skin. Lance trails his fingers along the crest of Keith's cheek, touch feather-soft. He brushes across Keith's lashes and his thick brows, down the slope of his nose.

  
It becomes hard to breathe, the air thick with the warm night and his own stuttering breath.

  
"I know you're awake." Lance suddenly whispers, taking his touch away, "I can hear your heart."

  
Keith lets his eyes open slowly but he stays put, fighting against his instinct to push himself to the other side of the boat. Through his lashes, he sees the swirling blue of Lance's eyes, a whirlpool of color in motion.

  
He wonders at it, at his chance of ending up stranded in the sea with a fish following the trail of his oars. He wonders at the huge ship housing his crew somewhere far away and the stars above their heads, at each and every ripple brushing against Lance's skin-

  
In a moment, Keith is taking a deep breath and finally leaning away, until his back has found the opposite side. He spreads his legs the best he can and rubs at his eyes, trying to clear his mind; he blames these romantic ideations on the food.

  
Who knows what the fish actually brings him. Perhaps it's tainted, poisoned to soften his mind and then his body, until he's perfect for dinner.

  
"Now it's picking up pace." Lance speaks up and Keith raises his gaze to him, "Are you scared?"

  
"No." Keith scoffs, but it's weak, "Annoyed is more like it."

  
A scowl graces Lance's lips, "You act like a guppy."

  
"Guppy?"

  
He nods and moves closer, until his forearms are resting on the side of the boat, upper body glistening beneath the moonlight, "Little one's who don't get their way. They become angry that they've been found sneaking sweet kelp and end up trying to snap at our fins."

  
Keith huffs, "I'm no guppy."

  
The smile that blooms on Lance's face sends a thrill through Keith, just as it has for the past few days. Days that drag and nights that leave too soon, the mild air promising another day of scorching heat. The thought makes Keith sulk, though he tries his best to hide it.

  
But the damn fish sees everything.

  
Lance furrows his brows and leans a bit closer, threatening to tip the entire boat. Keith reaches a hand to hold on to the side, as if it would do anything to keep it afloat.

  
"It changes so quickly." Lance breathes, as if he were enthralled, "One moment it's dull, like you're about to slip into sleep and the next it's thrumming."

  
"Yours never does?" Keith snaps, not liking the study of his own anatomy.

  
Lance tilts his head, "I don't think so."

  
"You can't feel it?"

  
"No." Lance scrunches his nose, as if in a pout.

  
"Try, then." Keith nods toward his chest, "Put your hand to your chest."

  
Lance looks at him in doubt, like this were some strange trap. They don't trust each other and Keith doubts they ever will, the day that one of them tries to get rid of the other no doubt soon approaching.

  
He keeps it in mind even as Lance slides his hand to his chest, eyes betraying just a sliver of hope.

  
"I-" His shoulders drop, "Nothing. There's nothing."

  
Keith rolls his eyes, "There has to be  _something_. You're alive, aren't you? Everyone has a heart."

  
But the look on Lance's face is suddenly so familiar, it leaves Keith stunned. The clenching of Lance's jaw, the downcast eyes; full of self loathing.

  
"You just," Keith suddenly shuffles forward, pushing away all of the warning bells in his mind, "have to find the perfect spot. Like this."

  
He reaches for Lance's hand, surprised that the Siren lets him take it, though he doesn't let it show. His fingers lace around Lance's wrist and Keith tugs, just a bit, until it's resting upon his bare chest.

  
The new touch makes Keith gasp, a soft little noise that he foolishly hopes the Siren didn't hear. But by the small smirk on his face, Keith knows that he did, that he's _enjoying_ how uncomfortable Keith suddenly feels. Because, just like always, Lance's skin is _cold_. It settles on his chest like ice and it pricks at his skin, the webs between his fingers paper thin but there all the same.

  
One of Keith's fingers brush against the web and he revels at the feel of it, like satin and soft moss and everything else that somehow resembles this ocean.

  
"Feel it?" He asks, gruff and to the point.

  
Lance looks away from Keith's face and stares, as if he could see the organ beating beneath his flesh. His eyes are wide, luminescent and shimmering and ever curious. If Keith weren't worried that the fish had plans to eat him whole, he'd probably find the sight nice.

  
He might even find the reaction rather _human_.

  
"Fast again." Lance murmurs.

  
"Now find your own." Keith tugs his hand away and pushes it toward Lance's chest, directing it until it sits just to the left.

  
They wait.

  
And wait.

  
And then-

  
"Once again, _nothing_." Lance hisses, face morphing to one of anger. He pushes away from the boat and sends it rocking.

  
"You just have to wait-"

  
" _Everyone has a heart._ " Lance mocks, "Then you know nothing of merfolk."

  
Keith bristles at the condescending tone and rises to his feet, "You aren't heartless, no one is even if you want to believe-"

  
Suddenly, Lance is there, right in his face, as if the water had pushed him up and left him hovering. His teeth are sharp and fins flared, all aggression and pure predatory threat.

  
"I'd sooner rip yours from your chest than believe you." Lance hisses, eyes sharp as crystal as they roam Keith's face, "And it's best you remember that."

  
And then he is gone, leaving nothing but open water behind.

  
Keith lets out a large breath and feels his own anger rise, his time spent rowing and staring at the waves and eating strange fruit crowding inside of him like the gathering of gunpowder meant to explode.

  
With a shout, he picks up a discarded shell of pink fruit and chucks it at the water, "You _stupid fish!_ "

  
He throws another and another, until they're floating like sea birds waiting for a meal.

  
But Lance does not resurface.

 

 

***

 

 

The day Keith was stolen away from land, it had been raining.

 

Strange, considering they were in the dry months, when no hurricanes or tropical storms threatened their port city. But he'd decided to enjoy the feel of the water on his dirty skin, boots kicking at puddles on the cobble streets as he made his way to the market by the sea.

  
Ships had already finished unloading trade goods and many vendors had already sold their finest meats and cheeses and breads. But Keith managed to snatch just enough coin for a light meal, possibly porridge or soup.

  
It put a pep in his step, no matter the weather.

  
No one pays mind to lost children.

  
It's as simple as people not wanting it to be their business, not wanting to disrupt their days spent shopping and working and taking care of their own families.

  
It's a truth that Keith had never been able to accept, no matter the amount of times he'd been denied an ounce of affection.

  
Keith wandered easily through a small crowd, coats drawn over faces, opened 'brella's keeping the gray downpour from their hair.

 

He eyed expensive looking rings and the silk of lady's dresses, wondering if his knife could cut at the material and he could run, maybe sell it to someone in the orphanage. He'd promise that it came from a princess, a girl who'd been at port and had come to fancy Keith-

  
"Are you lost?"

  
Keith bumps into a thick legged man and looks up, his height annoyingly short at the age of eleven.

  
"Outta my way." Keith tries to push by but he's weaker than he's been in a while, several days without a good meal catching up to him all too fast.

  
"Asked ya' a question, lad." The man suddenly squats in front of him, bringing the smell of salt and fish and rum to tickle at Keith's nose.

  
"And I told you to move." Keith wants to kick at him, spit in his face-

  
"Where's yer parents?"

  
The question makes him still, his small hands balling into fists. Quick as a viper, he reaches to punch at the man's face, the hit just strong enough to leave the man blinking.

  
And then, he's _laughing_.

  
A loud bellow, one that sends people away, eyes narrowed in distaste.

  
"Ya got fire in ya', kid." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a golden coin.

  
Keith's eyes widen and he feels the weight of the cheap silver in his pocket, all thought leaving him other than the knowledge that the gold piece alone could buy him enough food for days.

  
"Ya wanna be rich, don't ya?" The man grows serious, "Fill yer pockets with jewels and gold and keep yer belly full all day long."

  
"'Course." Keith sneers, "I'm always hungry."

  
The man nods, as if making up his mind, "I'll take ya' to get somethin' to eat."

  
And so, the man did. They stayed in the tavern all night, until Keith's eyelids were heavy and his yawns slow, belly so full he worried it'd burst.

  
He didn't remember falling asleep.

  
But waking up is something he'll never forget.

  
"If you don't get up soon, they'll pour old fish guts on ya."

  
The voice was a bit deeper than his but the hand on his arm was surprisingly gentle. Keith's eyes opened slowly and it took longer than he'd like for his vision to clear. The person above him started as a murky portrait, a bit buff but still short enough to be deemed young.

  
"Wha-"

  
"Got work to do." The boy pulled at Keith until he was standing, unsteady with a rocking motion, "Swab enough of the deck and you'll eat real good later."

  
"Where am I?" Keith began to panic, looking around at the dark metal of cannons and crates full of hulking objects, "Who are you?"

  
"Name's Shiro. Nice to meet ya." 

  
Keith sneers, " _Where the fuck am I?_ "

  
The boy raises a brow but doesn't shout, nor does he yank Keith forward or knock him upside the head like so many others tended to do; he does nothing that Keith expects.

  
Instead, he lets go and shrugs, "Ya ever heard of pirates?"

 

 

***

 

"I know you're down there." Keith speaks aloud as he wipes at the sweat on his forehead, "You can probably hear me, too. So if you're plannin' on bringing any of your friends to kill me, just know I've killed things bigger and scarier than _you_."

  
A face flashes in Keith's mind, one full of scars and a nasty rugged beard, but he pushes it away.

  
He replaces it with Shiro, the only true friend he'd ever known.

  
It settles his nerves and he rows on, slower than he had hours before. Exhaustion makes his arms shake, his breath stutter; he was an idiot for throwing the old fruit. He may have been able to squeeze just a bit more water, eat just another small section around the peel, make it one more fuckin' day.

  
Because if Lance had decided to leave him for good, Keith knows he's done for.

  
He knows he'll die.

  
Yet for a fleeting moment, the thought doesn't even bother him.

  
For a single second, he wonders if it'll be easier to just stop. To stop searching for his crew, to stop rowing toward the endless horizon, to let his enemy deal with the failure of Keith's-

  
"They aren't going to eat you."

  
The voice makes Keith jump but it does the job of shocking him from his thoughts. He drops an oar, the hard clank of wood upon wood harsh. Lance flinches but doesn't let Keith focus on it, instead tossing something new into the boat.

  
It's small, almost too small, and perfectly round.

  
"A pearl?" Keith raises a brow but bends to pick it up anyway.

  
Lance lets out a sharp breath and his fins flutter, "Consider this an apology. You humans give gifts to be forgiven, yes?"

  
"Forgiven for what? Almost ripping my face off?"

  
This time, Lance is quick to send a splash of water onto Keith. He licks at his lips, tasting salt.

  
He shoves it in his pocket and clears his throat but before he can say anything, a plop of sea fruit is in his lap. It's slimy but Keith has grown used to it and he eagerly lifts it to his lips, seeing that Lance had already bit the tough piece on the end completely off.

  
Water gushes into his mouth and throat and he swallows it all, a soft moan leaving him in bliss.

  
You never know how precious water is until you have none. Never know how soft a shitty bed on a pirate ship is 'till you spend weeks in a cell, spend nights exhausted on a boat of damp wood. The water rejuvenates him just enough for him to row a bit more, aware that Lance is swimming beside him but not bothering to watch.

  
But as the sun dips lower in the sky, when the colors have grown vibrant and the night is blooming behind him, Keith turns to Lance and waits. The Siren surfaces just as he always does, with water dripping from the fringe of his hair, blue eyes filmy, almost identical to the color of Keith's new pearl.

  
And then, with another few blinks, they are blue.

  
"What is it?" Lance asks, cautious.

  
Keith wipes at the damp skin on his neck and tries to lift his hair, to let the incoming cool breeze brush against him.

  
"Why are you helping me?" Keith finally asks, "What game are you playing?"

  
Lance narrows his eyes and hums, the sound similar enough to a song that Keith instantly relaxes.

  
"I'm simply curious-"

  
"Not good enough." Keith brings the second oar in and gets to his knees, "None of this makes sense, how do you even know my language? Why haven't you brought other merfolk to kill me? Do you even know where we are-"

  
" _Guppy_."

  
The word makes Keith slam his mouth shut.

  
And then he is surging forward, wanting nothing more than to smack the fish right in the nose.

  
Lance catches his wrist mid-air, fingers holding tight, Keith's palm inches from his face. He bares his teeth and brings Keith's palm to his mouth, eyes locked to his. Keith shivers at the feel of sharp canines nipping at him, at the soft spread of Lance's lips brushing along his callouses.

  
But he never breaks skin.

  
Instead, he lets go of Keith, hand trailing the length of his arm before dropping back into the water.

  
"Aren't you curious too?" Lance asks as his teeth retract, "Don't we share that, at least?"

  
Keith gulps and gathers himself, the pit of his stomach giving way to a sharp flutter.

  
He doesn't answer.

  
Instead, he lets Lance watch him as he brushes the entire interaction away, trying to pretend it never happened at all. He places an oar on either side of him and spreads his legs the best he can, eyes finding The Serpent through the gathering stars above.

  
"Just let me sleep." He mumbles before throwing an arm over his eyes, giving up on getting any answers. 

  
But sleep doesn't come easy tonight.

  
It makes him wait, makes him think of teeth and fins and pearls; all the while denying a simple truth.

  
One that is obvious and injudicious, one that will most likely lead to his death.

  
Lance starts a gentle hum and Keith latches onto it, even going so far as to turn his head to listen.

  
Because there is no doubt that Lance is right.

  
Keith is foolishly, _desperately_ curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started this chapter a while ago and finished it at 3am, running on two cups of coffee and determination..........rip me


	5. Chapter 5

 

Hunk of Altea knows there are three truths in his world.

 

First, all sea kelp tastes better when sweetened and all cuddle fish are crunchier after two days upon a sun warmed rock.

 

Second, it's safer within the Kingdom, where the sun doesn't reach and the sharks patrol the outer seabeds.

 

And third, a gathering of soldiers is _never_ a good sign.

 

He swims hurriedly through the flora of his mother's garden, tail kicking up sand as he skirts a corner and cuts another too short. His tail, while deep gold, reflects the blue light beneath him in shades of green.

 

He's rushing, he's nervous, he's so close to a panic that he feels it swelling inside him like overturned scallop.

 

Because it's been days since the last Hunt, days since he refused to go and decided instead to stay with the Guppy's, to teach them the tricks of turning certain knobs on his own inventions. One to keep their tails warm without risk of burning at the scales, one to help them soar high into the water, one to send puffs of colorful ink from willing octopus' onto the sand-

 

But mostly, he's close to panic because his best friend is missing.

 

And now, after days of thinking it through and searching for him all on his own, it seems the rest of the Kingdom has noticed as well.

 

He curses and soars through the water, bypassing caverns and curious faces, the carcass of an enemy merfolk strung up near the center of town. The man's bones are beginning to show and though it smells rank the closer one gets, many still stop to spit at him. To curse his actions, the likes of which Hunk still isn't sure about; foiled assassination of someone in high standing? Spying for his own people, who no doubt wish to steal a life-stream absorbed jewel?

 

He doesn't have time to ponder and instead avoids the hustle of Guppy's trying to keep up with their pod mothers, all the while keeping an eye out for anything that could help him.

 

Anything that could, miraculously, lead him to Lance.

 

Because if those warriors, with their spears and razor teeth and sharp fins find him first, and he's _not_ in perilous danger-

 

Hunk can't bring himself to think of the consequences. For though merfolk are protective and endlessly loyal they are also merciless. They can be vicious and animalistic and cruel. 

 

He shakes away the memory of the woman who'd been scorched by a geyser only months before; all on the account that she'd been rumored to have made friends with someone from above.

 

It makes him sick to his stomach.

 

Coming around a final corner, tail fin brushing the cold stone of an ancient sunken statue, Hunk pulls up short. The fins on his elbow's and neck flare beautifully, just as they always have, in shades of gold and amber and liquid sun.

 

But he isn't showing off his colors. He's simply reassessing his decision, his brash impulse to turn to the only person that may be able to help him.

 

The one person he hadn't spoken to in months.

 

The castle is a massive beast, a fortress with spiral towers and barnacled white stone. Coral protrudes in a circular formation, giving the appearance of a wall, though hazardous to any creature stupid enough to try to pass.

 

One wrong move and you're skewered.

 

Hunk gulps and floats closer, eyeing a Mer with black tresses, her broad shoulders bare and speckled with midnight scales. It's risky, doing this. He _knows_ he shouldn't be doing it, especially when the entire Kingdom is now on high alert.

 

A horn, deep and somber and altogether terrifying echoes around him, distant from the soldiers ready to take off into the deep. But he ignores it the best he can and sneaks past the woman, his large tail barely making it through a space between two spikes of rough coral.

 

On the other side, he eyes the old path that will lead him through the field of anemone and lethal jellies, hopefully still able to keep him safe and sound. Taking a deep breath, he channels his inner Lance and nods once, as if to say: _gotcha' buddy._

 

And then he's swimming once more, the anemone rising above his head to create even more shadow. His scales begin to glow like molten rock and his eyes shine just as deep, though he can't really tell. He's focused on the path ahead, on pushing himself through until the domed rock comes to light.

 

It takes a while, a bit too long for his liking, but in the end he comes away unscathed. The domed rock is just as hidden as he remembers, invisible to any eye unknowing of its existence.

 

Hunk clenches his jaw and swims through easy enough.

 

"Hello?" He immediately calls out, coming to a stop just within the entrance.

 

His tail wades below him, keeping him upright and graceful, pointed ears twitching just a bit to alert him of any reverberating sound.

 

Silence.

 

With an aggravated huff, he dives deeper and checks every crevice, bypassing strange human objects. Metal things that he once spent hours trying to figure out, strange material that is slowly falling away; crab bitten and algae covered.

 

It's sad, the way these things eventually fade. He tries not to think about it, to remind himself that these thoughts are foolish and naive, the effects of a young mind. But as his tail brushes something rusted and flaking, he feels a tug in his chest.

 

A deep sorrow for all things lost to time.

 

But finally, just as he's about to give up and simply burrow himself into the seabed, he sees it; a silver light, small enough to glance over but bright enough to draw you back. A prick of something hot flows into his body and he takes off, turning a final corner to see what he hopes is there.

 

She is.

 

Hair floating around her like starlight and moonbeam, skin brown and covered in opalescent scales, tail curled beneath her; a figure of divinity.

 

A small sea serpent slithers around her arm and flares at Hunk but he can tell that it doesn't break her concentration, the bright light shining from her eyes remaining unchanged.

 

Hunk knows better than to wake her.

 

He remembers Lance once trying, just before they'd been banned from seeing her altogether, and his skin had come away scourged, dark blood filtering into the water as he hissed and screeched. The entire cave had shuddered and distantly, with a strain of his ears, Hunk had heard the shouts of people outside and above, within the castle itself.

 

Now, he simply waits. Watches as she floats, the only movement being the serpent and her hair, occasionally the twitch of a fin. Her hands cradle something to her chest but Hunk doesn't know what it is and figures it isn't really his business anyway.

 

He simply waits and waits, always a bit more patient than others.

 

Until, finally, she wakes.

 

It comes with a warm draft of water vibrating across the cave, hitting Hunk's chest and making him gasp, the light of her eyes flashing bright before going out completely. She brings a corded necklace to her lips and kisses it once, before letting it fall back to her chest. The sea serpent slithers away from her arm and tangles itself in her hair, eyeing Hunk like a fish of prey.

 

"Hunk?"

 

Her voice makes him flinch.

 

"Hey, Allura."

 

She turns her head to his voice and he tries to avoid the opal of her eyes, the milky film settled permanently over top. But in the end, it's unavoidable. She swims to him quick as a whip and wraps her tail around his, strong arms pulling him close into a hug.

 

He hisses at her nails digging into his back but doesn't pull himself away. She shudders and holds tighter still, until no space is left between them.

 

"You finally came back." She whispers, though her voice seems older.

 

Sadder.

 

A bit more dangerous.

 

"Said I would." Hunk clears his throat, "We didn't want to leave you in the first place, you know."

 

She pulls back and stares, though not at him. Just to the right, next to the thin web lining his ear.

 

"I know of Lance." She says, slowly unlatching her tail from his, "I've seen blood in the water."

 

Panic rises in Hunk again and he grasps her hand, shocked to find it rather warm, "Not his?"

 

"I'm not sure." She shakes her head and pulls her hand from his, using her tail to back away, "But I've been tasked with finding out."

 

"Is that what you were doing?" Hunk nods behind her, though he knows she can't see it, "I thought maybe you were speaking with your mother, people say your new power is-"

 

"Given to me because of my partial death." She grimaces, "It doesn't work that way, no matter how I wish it did. The dead are simply gone forever."

 

Hunk stares at her, at the absence of her once blue eyes. He remembers the night they'd been exploring, all three of them pretending to be something they aren't.

 

Pretending to be human.

 

Hunk can't help but blame himself. He can't help but blame Lance-

 

"It wasn't your fault, Hunk." Allura says, quiet as a shadow, as if she'd read his thoughts, "Nor was it Lance's."

 

"We left you-"

 

"I swam away."

 

"If we'd have grabbed you and pulled you with us, they never would have caught you in that net, your eyes and your tail fin-"

 

"I _swam away!_ I swam away and my father paid the final price!" Allura shouts, fins flaring, crown suddenly shining bright as if to remind Hunk of who she is, "Now I live with it. I speak to the Oracle and see what is to come. I can now fully protect our people in my father's stead, just as I was born to do."

 

"But Lance, he hasn't done anything wrong, I know he hasn't. The rumors of him following after a human are false, full of mindless gossip."

 

"We can only hope." She sighs and begins to swim away, "But if my soldiers find him alive and well, and Oracle forbid with a _human_ for a friend, they will tear him to shreds."

 

"You wouldn't allow that." Hunk shakes his head in disbelief, "We've known each other since we were _Guppy's_ , your mother and his were friends-"

 

"Times change." She snaps, turning to look back at him only once, "I'm not a princess anymore, Hunk. I will lead this Kingdom in the way's of old, when we were the strongest in the world. When no nets could catch us, no human's could leave us to dry in the sun. When nothing could burn us."

 

She raises her tail fin and Hunk flinches, the jagged flesh scarred from a deep singe. From her time spent on a ship near the Trench, with human's and their brutal hearts, both of them now cursed with the memory of her father losing his life to bring her home. He rears back, catching not even a trace of sympathy or mercy in her gaze.

 

And then she is gone.

 

The cave suddenly feels frigid, desolate and cursed and everything else he tries to avoid on a nightly basis. He shoots out of the entrance, perhaps to beg her to lead her soldiers to a peaceful outcome, to fight against theold laws and traditions.

 

But a flashing memory of her tail has him stopping, shoulders falling, fins shuddering with the deep ache of his chest.

 

 

***

 

King Alfor had been good.

 

Better than any ruler they'd had before, that much Hunk was certain of. Oldest among his people, generations stacked upon generations had made him wise. He led them in their politics with differing merfolk from far waters, taught them of the Oracle, of the voice of the sea and the life-stream that keeps them strong.

 

 _"It is the same above land as it is below."_ He'd told the three of them on many occasions, happy to see his daughter with friends, _"Though humans may be too foolish to see it. The life-stream is what is and what will be, flowing through the core of the planet, keeping it alive. It connects us to the stars, Guppy's, to everything and anything you could think of. Though where ours is in the depth of the water, theirs is in soil. In their plants and sun-filled foods. They believe many things, in many ruling powers and beings like our Oracle. In that way, we aren't so different, are we?"_

 

The Kingdom went into the mourning the day Allura came back without her father. Some of the people, he knows, blame her for the downfall of their King. The Hunt's became more frequent, the merfolk more brutal than ever, angry and unforgiving; until the water near the Pass become permanently tainted by human blood.

 

Hunk remembers his first feed, the way it didn't sit right in his belly. He was a child then, and the Hunt's were common, though not overdone as they are now.

 

With a sigh, Hunk wades through the inner city crowd and keeps his eyes downcast. People whisper, eyes following soldiers as they swim with newly sharpened spears and teeth already protruding, jaws unhinging.

 

Ready for blood.

 

Hunk has become hopeless, unsure of where to turn now that Allura has seemingly made her choice. He can't go to Lance's sisters or brother, knowing that they're just as concerned as he is; though all the more lethal. Ready to rip into a human, any human, in fear that they've stolen their brother.

 

Hunk can't turn to Coran, the man that became like a second father to them all, because there's no doubt he's ever-loyal to Allura.

 

In the end, he supposes all that he has is himself.

 

His spineless unwillingness to act, to rip spears from the hands of warriors and scream that there is another way. That Lance doesn't have to get hurt in the process, that not every human should be considered abhorrently _evil_.

 

As he makes his way home, he thinks again of his best friend. He thinks of Lance's self hatred, building up and up for weeks after Allura's capture and return. Of his tireless Hunt's, the way his skin and scales would always come back bloodied, the way he seemed to be punishing himself for her demise. 

 

"Where're ya goin' Hunk?"

 

Hunk turns toward a little voice and spots Viraina, the Guppy who'd always been most interested in his work. She twirls in a circle, eyes wide, teeth sharp simply because she doesn't yet know how to control their length.

 

Sighing, Hunk slows his swim and holds out his hand. Viraina grasps his fingers and lets him drag her along.

 

"Just heading home, Gup." He glances down at her, "Aren't you supposed to be with your pod?"

 

She laughs, a high pitched trill of sound, "Snuck away. Lance told me how to do it without gettin' caught-"

 

"Course he did." Hunk smirks, "He's always been good at that."

 

"Is he dead?"

 

The abrupt question makes Hunk want to puke. He stops them both and furrows his brows, "No. Never."

 

"My pod mother says he is. Or he's gonna be!"

 

"Your pod mother's a _spineless eel._ " Hunk snaps, though it's slightly halfhearted.

 

"Now you sound like Lance!" Viraina trills again, before ultimately quieting down.

 

She grows serious in that way some Guppy's do, something sharp and witty shining behind her green eyes.

 

"What is it?" Hunk asks, trying to swim away again.

 

But she holds fast.

 

He turns to her, instantly noticing the wobble of her lower lip.

 

"You gotta find 'em." Viraina orders, little claws digging into Hunk's palm, "Before the Queen does, before they string him up or those land monsters cut his scales, you gotta bring him back."

 

Hunk shakes his head, "I can't do anything, Vir-"

 

"You can!" She screeches, small fins flaring and shaking, little red tail shining bright as she flicks it forward and back in an aggravated motion, "You can because you're his friend. He told me friends help each other forever, no matter what."

 

Warmth blossoms in Hunk's chest, strong and full.

 

He stares at Viraina, just for a moment longer, before letting her go. With a nod, and a strong push of his tail to hers, he's made up his mind.

 

Without another thought, he swims to the herd of warriors at the edge of the city and picks up a spear, feeling the sturdy coral beneath his palm. Other's turn to look at him, sharp gazes full of disbelief and mockery, but he doesn't care.

 

He waits, unsure of what happens next.

 

Unsure if he should back away and go home, maybe fill a satchel full of kelp before hanging behind the convoy-

 

But then they are moving. His brash, quick decision is catching up to him, no matter the forceful hope of Viraina's words. His chest tightens as someone pushes at his back, urging him to swim forward, though he tries to push back.

 

No luck.

 

A horn, now closer and louder and much more threatening, blares from someone around him. The shell is no doubt shaped into that of something sharp, perfect to use as a weapon if need be.

 

And ahead, visible just through the mass of warrior's leading the way, Hunk spots Allura. She is covered in ink, swaths of it spread upon her cheeks and arms, mimicking the warriors of old. Warrior's who would stop at nothing to save their people, those trapped in nets and skewered on ship end's, who would be scaled beneath the sun. Warrior's that eventually killed so many human's, that they'd stopped sailing near the Kingdom altogether. 

 

"Move on." Someone pushes at him again, "Time to follow the queen."

 

And so, with one finally look at the Kingdom of Altea, Hunk lets out a gillful of water.

 

And he swims.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a peek at Altea and co. Let's hope Hunk reaches Lance before they do, yeah? 
> 
> FYI: the Siren's Oracle is like an omniscient voice of the life-stream, able to show people with 'the sight' future outcomes. more info on this will come up soon. 
> 
>  
> 
> :)


	6. Chapter 6

 

_"Dark the stars and dark the moon...hush the night and the morning loon..."_

 

Lance stirs at the sound of a song. 

 

It drifts to him beneath the water, the sand that had been keeping him rooted to the seabed coming undone with the twitch of his tail. The song is strange against his eardrums, sounding _nothing_ like his own yet entrancing all the same. 

 

He trills softly and blinks himself awake, spotting beams of the just risen moon filter through the undulating surface. 

 

_"Dark the oceans, dark the sky..hush the whales and the ocean tide.."_

 

Lance's tail sways in strong strokes as he pushes himself completely free, hair instantly blooming about his face, fins opening to aid him in balance. He stares up, blue eyes shining before he catches sight of the dark shadowed rowboat. 

 

_"Tell the salt marsh and beat on your drum..."_

 

Keith's fingers trail in the water as he sings, creating a small path of bubbles in languid little motions. Lance swims up and up, until his own fingers dare brush against the human's; hesitant and soft. 

 

Lance's eyes, much stronger in the dark than during the day, study the spirals that make up each of Keith's fingertips. He glances at his own and narrows his eyes, trying to see even a trace of the same thing, almost forgetting that the boy  _should_ be pulling away. 

 

Isn't he frightened?

 

Isn't he worried that Lance would pull him beneath the waves, bite into him and leave him for the scavenger fish?

 

Tempting as it may be, Lance instead drifts higher, yearning to hear the soft humming that has taken place of words. He looks to their hands again and finds them strange, the slightly translucent webs between his fingers contrasting sharply to the empty space between Keith's. He laces them together the best he can, until Keith's fingertips are brushing the webbing. 

 

Keith shifts above, the creak of the boat announcing the end of his song. 

 

It saddens Lance, the sudden loss of his voice almost haunting in the silence that follows. He surfaces with nothing more than a ripple, blinking at the sting of the air. 

 

The boy is already looking at him, though his eyes dance as he glances from their laced fingers before flitting back to Lance's face. 

 

"Are you scared tonight?" Lance asks, soft as ever, always curious to hear the answer. 

 

"Yes."

 

And this, it surprises him. This abrupt declaration, usually denied to the final moment, the haughty expression that follows full of distrust and annoyance. But now, with this one word, Lance is immediately cautious. 

 

Suspicious. 

 

He tilts his head and lets go, pushing himself back just an inch. Keith digs his teeth into his bottom lip, seemingly debating within his mind, a place that Lance will unfortunately never come to truly know. 

 

 _Is he thinking of attacking?_ Lance wonders,  _Maybe he found a way to pull me aboard and tie me down, keep me out to dry-_

 

"But it looks as though you're frightened too." Keith continues, pressing himself against the side of the boat, "What is it? Never heard a human sing?"

 

Lance scoffs, "You call that singing?" 

 

"You're scared because you aren't sure why you've left me alive for so long. You're worried you've grown soft."

 

The words aren't a question, much less anything close to a guess. They slam into Lance like a shark, forcing him to listen, urging him to agree. He bares his teeth, just a bit. Just enough to send the boy back to the other side of the boat in fear. 

 

But he doesn't move away. 

 

"You've just admitted your own fear, yet _you_ haven't cowered." Lance huffs, ignoring the small smirk that rises on Keith's face. 

 

"And you haven't dived back to the deep."

 

They stare at each other, a strange silence rising in the space between them. A cloud passes over the moon and Keith pushes even closer, sight transfixed on Lance's tail. On his eyes and his ears, his abdomen and shoulders, any part of his body that glows. 

 

At the constant pulse of light beneath his skin, the sharp marks resting on the crests of his cheeks, casting all of his scales to glitter. 

 

"You aren't so scary when you shine." Keith breathes, "You look like the stars. A cosmos."

 

Lance blanches, horrified by the sudden heat sprouting on his cheeks. 

 

It's unnatural, the way it burns against his neck.

 

"I never knew you were a _Tlaniad_."

 

Keith furrows his brows, no doubt completely confused by the click and trill of the word, "What?"

 

"Your mind isn't all sharp edges, like a sword. Do you have a word for it, someone who can flow words together like sea petal?" 

 

Lance searches his mind for anything similar, his years spent trying to salvage documents from drowned ships more than enough for him to practice his human speech. The merfolk's own teachings, while passed down through centuries, are said to be necessary in case of capture. But they'd only been taught the basics and Lance had always wanted to know more, to learn and thrive and place himself on par with the two-legged creatures. 

 

"A...poet?" Keith sounds positively offended, "I'm no such thing. I just speak what's on my mind. My crew would laugh in my face before comparing me to a romantic." 

 

"Poet." Lance nods, feeling it on his tongue, "Rhymes and stories, you're full of words that keep you awake, yes? Singing and humming and thinking when you should be asleep."

 

Keith shakes his head, "I don't rhyme. I steal and kill-"

 

"And compare a Siren to the stars." Lance smiles, all teeth, "Did you come up with that song? The one that woke me?"

 

"No." Keith shakes his head, "S'just an old tune, Shiro taught it to me when I was a child, when I was still fearful of battle."

 

"Shee-ro?" 

 

"My friend." Keith reaches a hand back to the water, to feel it on his fingers, though he keeps a weary eye on Lance, "I'm sure he's gone mad looking for me."

 

Lance leans back and brings his tail forward, curling it in a few odd angles beneath him, until his tail fin brushes against Keith's hand. The boy draws back only to extend his hand forward a moment later, mouth open at the feel of scales and flesh on his palm. 

 

"My people greet friends like this." Lance flushes again, cursing the blood in his veins, "Tail fin to tail fin, wrapped together."

 

Keith smirks, "Too bad I have no tail."

 

It grows quiet, the soft lap of water on the boat the only sound accompanying their breaths. 

 

Eventually, Lance nods, "It is a shame."

 

And then he slips his tail back into the water, interrupting Keith's gentle strokes. 

 

"Feels too soft." Keith says, unaware of Lance's wide-eyed stare, "Like feathers. But you're a fish, sort of, which is stranger still. Seems like one wrong move and it'd rip completely-"

 

"It's tougher than it looks." Lance blinks rapidly, feeling the thin film over his eyes brush against his pupil, "And I'm not, as you say, just some stupid _fish_."

 

Keith snorts and lets out a laugh, but doesn't say more before turning away. Distantly, against the backdrop of dark clouds, thunder rumbles deep and low. Keith watches it, worry etching itself onto his brow. 

 

"I can smell rain in the air." He says, face tense with a flash of bright lightning, "A brewing storm."

 

Lance hums and swims closer until he can place both arms on the edge of the boat. Keith doesn't even bother glancing at him, his mouth set into a hard line, all concentration cast to the sea. 

 

Already, waves rock them both. Lance's long tail sways beneath the surface, back and forth in constant motion. 

 

"If the waves capsize my boat, I'll drown." Keith continues, "No doubt about that."

 

"I won't let you."

 

The words are out of Lance before he can stop them. They feel like acid on his tongue, foreign after so many months of pure brutality. Of ripping into human flesh with no other thought than:  _it is what I deserve._

 

After Allura's capture, the blame and fault laying purely on Lance's shoulders, he knows that he changed. And later, after the death of their King-

 

Lance squeezes his eyes shut to rid himself of the memories. 

 

His mother always told him that he had a tranquil connection to the Life-Stream, a need to  _heal_ instead of inflict pain. 

 

Now, as he open his eyes to look at the human boy, he can't help but feel all of her returning to him. Her hand upon his hair as a Guppy, the scrubbing of his scales after he'd constantly roll in octopus ink, the way she would bring him to the rift near the kelp beds and allow him to place a hand on the sea floor, taking in as much of the Life-Stream as he could. He remembers her parting tug, the wrapping of her huge tail around his own before she left to help King Alfor retrieve Allura. 

 

It's as if now, the distance put between himself and Altea has slowly started to release some invisible binding. Loosening on his chest and tail and throat, until even an ounce of who he once was has begun to greet him again.

 

He takes a deep, steadying breath. 

 

He tries to imagine what the boy will taste like, perhaps something sweet and fresh-

 

But the longer he stares at him, the longer the days and night pass with neither of them reaching for the other's throat, Lance can't help but imagine him as something other than eventual food. He can only see him as  _alive,_ thriving beneath the sun that surely watches over all human's with such loyal light. 

 

"Don't suppose you know of an island nearby?" Keith finally turns to look at him, dark hair brushing across his face as the wind begins to pick up, "Somewhere with shelter?" 

 

Lance shakes his head, trying to think of any floating land close enough to swim to. 

 

"Fantastic." Keith sighs and leans back, running a rough hand through his hair, "Death it is, then."

 

Something akin to panic races through Lance's chest and he grimaces, loathing the feeling. But it pushes his mind to act, to rack his brain for any coordinate that could lead the human boy to temporary safety. 

 

And then it comes to him, the memory of skyward rock hazy in his mind, though it slowly becomes clearer and clearer. 

 

"Well...I believe there is a certain place. Not a very large place," Lance turns to look ahead, away from the incoming storm, "but it may work. It's very far-"

 

"Anything will do." Keith is already bending to pick up an oar, urging Lance to hurry. 

 

"It's a maze to get through." Lance slips away from the boat, knowing he'll have to lead, "If we make it through the rocks without you slamming into one, there is a small lagoon. Covered by dense palm, like the roof of a cove without all of the rock."

 

Keith doesn't even hesitate, "Take me there."

 

Lance stares at him a moment longer, long enough for a rumble of thunder to practically shake the entire boat. Long enough for him to decide if he truly wishes to save Keith, to go against the ways of his people and let a human survive his teeth and claws. 

 

He stares, and blinks and then he is nodding, making up his mind with a familiar thrill in his blood. A thrill that he'd long since forgotten, one of goodhearted mischief and his mother's fond scolding, his smile bright at the thought of simple fun. 

 

And then they're off. 

 

***

Lance swims ahead, looking back every few moments to check that Keith is keeping pace. In the water, merfolk are the Apex Predator. He can outswim a pod of dolphins, bite deeper and rip harder than any shark, wade in the strongest currents for hours upon hours without tiring. 

 

Hell, he'd even survived the sting of a Man-Of-War, the bastard of a jelly had scarred his lower back only three years ago, bringing him the closest to death he'd ever been. 

 

But nothing is as difficult as swimming slow enough for a human to follow. 

 

He wants to shout at Keith to hurry, to pick up the pace before the sun rises and the storm takes them both back to open sea. 

 

Instead, he finally spots the first outcropping of rock and he trills high and fast, the sound somehow louder _above_ the water than it is in it.

 

Keith whistles back and Lance doesn't hesitate to swim through, avoiding jagged stone that protrudes in tricky patterns. He can hear the boat skim one, the scraping sound worrisome though not enough for either of them to stop. 

 

Even here, among the towering rocks, the wind has grown strong. It pushes against Lance's body as he wades carefully, the air having grown misty. Thick kelp sways beneath Lance's tail and he knows that if he gets wrapped up in them, he'll surely suffocate. 

 

If Keith falls in, he'll be drowned in seconds. 

 

Lance's tail remains partially above the water and he lets a hand brush along the cool stone closest to him, the familiar groove leading him on. 

 

Sea birds caw far above, as if warning them of what is to come if they take a wrong turn. Riptides that can carry you to the depth and crush you, strange eels that would have fun zapping you until you fry-

 

Lance growls at the thought, a low purring sound that shakes his chest. He slows, just a bit, for Keith to pull up beside him. They're both quiet, the oars creating soft slaps in time with his rowing. 

 

"Is it close?" Keith asks, voice quiet and cautious. 

 

Lance feels watched, as if the birds above were reporting their visit back to someone who wishes them ill will. A silly thought but there all the same, sending a shiver up the length of his spine. 

 

He nods, "We've avoided the whirlpools. Soon the mist will clear."

 

" _Whirlpools?"_ Keith asks, incredulous. 

 

"Better than the eels." Lance grabs hold of an oar and tugs, leading them on, "I've tried to recall the safest path. My pod mother once took us to this lagoon while the Kingdom cleared away an invasion of jellies, we played for hours and chewed the sweetest coral."

 

"Eels and whirlpools. Sounds to me like you're leading me to my death, no need for a storm, is there?"

 

Lance rolls his eyes, the film slipping over the iris before sliding easily away, "If I wanted you dead, you would be. I'd be picking at your bones-"

 

"Yeah, got it." Keith shifts and the boat creaks, wood quickly becoming aged from days upon the water. 

 

The laugh that leaves Lance is a trickling sound, a trill with no need for communication. 

 

If Keith finds the noise threatening, or strange, he doesn't say so. 

 

He simply shakes his head and pulls the oar from Lance's grip, eager to get where they intend to go.

 

***

 

"It's...larger than I expected." Keith breathes, brows raised toward his hairline. 

 

Lance is grinning, already feeling the change in the water the moment they'd passed the last towering rock. The water is crystal clear and deep, cool against his scales. 

 

"The storm will weaken as it meets the rocks." Lance turns to his back and lets the water settle atop his stomach as he swims, "You will be safe here."

 

"Other than the eels and whirlpools and birds that want to pluck at my eyes."

 

Lance blinks, thinking the boy looks more of a Guppy than ever. A pouting little thing, tired and grumpy and rather precious. 

 

"They won't hurt you here." Lance says, ignoring his urge to taunt, "They stay away from the palms and the coral."

 

"Why?"

 

Lance shrugs, "No use there, other than fish that would poison them."

 

Keith throws his head back and groans, a noise that sends more heat to Lance's cheeks. He immediately dives backward into the water, shaking his head as he swims toward the rising sand. He goes as far as he can, until he's practically crawling with his hand instead of using his tail alone. 

 

But he remains just deep enough to dive if need be, to escape at a moments notice should the human turn on him.

 

Keith stands aboard the boat as he draws closer, rather calm and comfortable on his legs. Though, Lance knows, a pirate has to if he wishes to survive. 

 

He watches lazily, sleepy from their overnight trek, as Keith throws an oar onto the damp sand. There are no waves here, most broken up by the jagged rock and kelp before they can crest. Keith's mouth is a hard line when he jumps from the boat, the splash loud, toes immediately sinking into the sand. Boots left on board, Lance wonders if he even truly needs them. 

 

Keith glances at Lance, as if to check that the Siren isn't planning to grab his ankle and yank. Then he is using both hands to pull the boat to shore, grunting and huffing, until it's dug itself a small hole to act as an anchor. 

 

"Finished?" Lance turns, body twisting so that he can rest his chin on his palm. 

 

Keith grimaces, "I suppose."

 

The sun has just begun to rise in the East but neither of them can really tell. Filtering light instead hits the mist and reflects, creating pale diamonds to scatter against the rocks. 

 

Keith plops into the sand and wipes at his brow, eyes glancing toward the sky. Dark clouds have already started to gather and his skin looks quite pale, like the moon had soaked into him completely. 

 

Sighing, Lance feels his gills begging for water. He inches down, tail moving like a snake, until his abdomen has re-submerged. 

 

"Where will you go?" Keith suddenly asks, face serious with the first small pelt of rain. 

 

Lance thinks that it's the hardest the water will fall; fine misty drops, gentle plops onto the water and sand. He tilts his head up and closes his eyes, letting the cool water mingle with the salt on his skin. 

 

"Head toward the middle of the island." Lance says, voice soft and relaxed, "There's several fresh pools of water. I'll wait for you in the one that is not."

 

Before Keith can ask anything else, Lance slides completely into the water and he takes a huge gulp, feeling it filter any sand that could have gotten trapped within his gills. The water is clearer here than anywhere he's ever been, the coral reef that surrounds the lagoon bright and cheerful. 

 

He grins and chases a few fish, looking for those of purest silver. 

 

Those that are safest to eat. 

 

Once he has one, he brings it to his lips and bites, jaw shifting to practically swallow it hole. He gets another and another, until his belly is full and his need to feed has lessened to a minuscule simmer. He can feel the vibration of thunder on the water and it tickles at his scales, beckoning him to join the fun. 

 

He debates it, suddenly wanting nothing more than to find the tallest wave and jump through. To play with the dolphins and soar, just for a moment, like a bird. 

 

Instead, he pushes himself deeper through the lagoon, until he reaches the crevice that leads to a the only stream of salt water escaping to the center of the island. Excitement grows within him, his curiosity for all things above the sea grabbing hold of his chest and tugging with mighty force. It's fresh, as if he's become reborn with his old wants and wishes and dreams. He wants to see the birds of red and blue and green, to hear the sprinkle of rain as it hits the palm leaves, to feel the strange foliage beneath his wet fingers. 

 

He follows the path leading him to the pool and he lets his own light lead the way, until a world of deepest green opens up above him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any mistakes, I always manage to miss a few. 
> 
> The song that Keith is singing, if you're curious, is this one: [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6QS-Ia-EmIY)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I was in the middle of writing this chapter and realized...this fic is going to be....s o long.....  
> Like, these chapters are just the very beginning and there's so much that's going to happen i'm???? 
> 
> p.s. As always, thank you for the comments and kudos!!! I really, seriously appreciate it. I hope you're all enjoying!


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

Rain drips from the treetops onto Keith's skin, cooling days worth of sunburn and scratches. He keeps his face raised toward the sky, though it's almost entirely covered by the thick palms. His lashes are damp upon his cheeks, hair sticking to most of his neck, feet settled comfortably in the soft grass. 

 

He shifts from his sleep, the nap he'd promised would only last a short while turning out to drag on for much longer. 

 

Taking a large breath, he holds it until his legs burn before letting it back out, feeling his muscles instantly relax. Back on solid ground, he's had time to gather himself. To worry less about the Siren that could eat him on a whim or about the return of an Empire fleet; there is nothing but the drip drop. The soft patter that creates a symphony around him, joined only by the distant rumble of thunder and Lance's soft humming. 

 

The Siren has dragged himself from the water and rests on his back, stomach shifting in slow breaths. Keith turns his head and watches him, eyes roaming the opening and closing of his gills, frilled and pretty on his brown skin. They're pale blue, lighter than that of his scales yet dimmer than his eyes. 

 

Keith tears his gaze away and stretches his arms well above his head, letting out a huff of breath at the damp grass. It creates a cushion for his aching shoulders, legs still splayed and thankful for the room. 

 

He lets each drop of water land on his cheeks and slide down, tongue tasting it fresh upon his lips. 

 

Lance stops humming and Keith can hear him move, the sound of scales on land scratchy and strange. 

 

"Will you sing that song again?"

 

Keith opens one eye, shocked to see the Siren suddenly so close. He's using his hands as leverage to stay upright, long tail draped from here to the pool. Head tilted, hair fanning his face, Keith would never think that this is a creature fond of death. 

 

That he's used spears to strike human's from ships, used his claws and teeth to rip open guts and organs. 

 

Here, face slightly shadowed by filtered silver sunlight, he looks nothing like a monster. 

 

Keith wonders if he's being foolish, allowing Lance so damn close. 

 

"It's simple." Keith sighs and throws an arm over his eyes, "I'll tell you the words if you really want to know them."

 

A cold hand presses against his own and he jumps, knees rising involuntarily toward his chest. Lance's fingers are soft as they wrap around his wrist and tug, until Keith's arm has lifted from his face. He blinks at the light, at the wide eyes staring down at him. 

 

"You need to sing it again." Lance sounds serious, "I have to hear your voice."

 

"Just make up your own."

 

"No."

 

Keith rolls his eyes and turns his face away, nose tickled by the grass. Lance lets out a small hiss but doesn't force him to look back, instead seeming to draw closer and closer, until his breath is soft and cool on Keith's heated cheek-

 

They both jump, Lance practically falling back into the pool with the force of his shock.

 

Birds have lept from the trees in a flurry of motion, strong and fast and loud. Keith pushes himself up and uses his feet to back away from the Siren, pulse racing. 

 

"What animals are on this island?" Keith asks, getting to his feet, "Should I find something to sharpen, to protect myself from-"

 

"No." Lance gulps and slides back into the pool, "There is nothing but simple sea snakes, perhaps a stone-jawed turtle."

 

Keith turns and takes in the jungle, watching as a few straggling birds flap into the sky. His ears prick, trained to hear any snapping branch or splash of water, anything that could lead to his own peril. 

 

 _Focus._ Shiro had always told him, _Remain calm, Keith. If you're calm, nothing can hurt you._

 

"I need to build some kind of shelter." Keith thinks aloud, "Something that will keep me dry, where I can build a fire-"

 

"Fire?"

 

The question is a sharp growl from Lance's lips, full of fear and anger and hatred. Keith spins and nods once, brows furrowing. 

 

"You know of fire?"

 

"Your ships always burn." Lance lowers himself further into the water, until it brushes his neck, "In the end, you always burn us as well."

 

"I've never-"

 

"Not _yet_."

 

Keith grinds his teeth and makes to leave, to search for any usable wood and foliage. A chirp follows him, sounding like a tiny beg to stay. 

 

But he doesn't, instead being quick to gather the first stick he can find and march on, glancing every so often at the trees above. He spots coconuts and long green fruit, several birds covered in vibrant color. 

 

The day is winding down to a warm evening, cooled only by the recent storm. He heads toward the beach and steps onto the sand, eyes roaming the bright coral reef that surrounds the island like a boundary. A gate that keeps out, as Lance put it:  _really terrible things._

 

Keith sighs and takes a few steps forward, trying to ignore the ominous mist that still hovers near the rocks. Luckily, none find him here. The sunset has cast the sky in colors of orange and scarlet, deeply beautiful. It threatens to snatch the breath from his lungs, to keep him staring until the last bit of it fades away. 

 

There's no doubt that Keith has always been enraptured by the sky. By the stars and the clouds, the sunsets and sunrises, all of it finding him and holding tight. A splash breaks his concentration and he glances toward a shimmer in the water. A fin slaps before disappearing completely but Keith forces himself to refrain from calling out to Lance. 

 

He tries to dispel the panic that erupts inside, the thought of being abandoned here almost too much to bear. 

 

But he knows any screaming or begging is pointless. 

 

For now, he can't worry about Lance wandering off. 

 

He can only worry about surviving. 

 

***

 

By the time the roof to his shelter is complete, Keith wants to fall into the ground and never walk again. He wants to sink like roots, latching on to something solid other than his own bare feet. 

 

He sits with a groan and brings his knees high, until he can rest his forehead on them. Wrapping his arms around his shins, it would be easy enough to fall asleep. 

 

And he almost does. 

 

"Hungry?" 

 

There is a clatter and it has him raising his head, eyes catching on the pile of shells now resting beside the saltwater pool. Keith is all too aware of his own rumbling stomach, the familiar tug of emptiness reminding him that he needs more than water to survive. 

 

He nods and crawls forward, kneeling in the grass. 

 

Lance already has an oyster split open and he throws his head back, throat bobbing to swallow. 

 

Keith follows suit, closing his eyes at the fishy taste. While sort of unpleasant, it's still a bit better than anything else he can think of that's floating out on the reef. And he's much too tired to climb for coconuts, no matter how sweet they would be. 

 

"You've worked hard." Lance nods toward the leaning roof behind Keith. 

 

He shrugs, "I suppose."

 

"I thought of bringing you eel instead."

 

Keith rolls his eyes, "To shock me? Fry me up?"

 

A loud trill leaves Lance, the noise seeming to erupt from him more and more each day. It sounds as if he doesn't mean to laugh, as if he hasn't for quite some time. He dips his head and tries to hide his teeth and Keith watches the marks on his cheeks, the way his pointed webbed ears twitch. 

 

"You think it's funny, do you?" Keith chucks an empty shell at him, though he misses on purpose, "How would you like to be stranded with a creature that wants nothing more than to eat you?"

 

Lance shakes his head and looks up at Keith from beneath his thick eyelashes, "How do I know  _you_ won't eat  _me_ _?_ " 

 

The question is simple. 

 

Keith knows it's not meant to serious. 

 

But he glances toward one of the freshwater pools anyway, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. His cheeks are flushed and his ears hot, two things he wishes he could hide completely.

 

The water in front of him comes alive with a splash and almost instantly, he's crowded by the Siren. His face is close, hands on either side of his knees, water dripping from his chest onto Keith's own. 

 

"Do your people know nothing of personal space?" 

 

Lance tilts his head in Keith's peripheral, "What is that?"

 

"Of course you don't." Keith grumbles but finally turns his attention back to Lance, going practically cross-eyed at the proximity. 

 

"How many times must I tell you," Lance says, breath surprisingly fresh, "that if I wanted to eat you, you would already be dead."

 

Keith purses his lips and strains to keep his eyes on Lance's, to not let them travel down any further, "Repeating that isn't the same as promising it."

 

Leaning back just an inch, Lance gives a curious noise, something rolling in his throat. 

 

"A promise." Keith glances toward Lance's lips in a quick moment of weakness before bringing them back to his face, "You know, something friends say to each other when they need reassurance. Something you never break."

 

"A binding?" 

 

"Uh," Keith shrugs, "Sure."

 

Lance smirks and lowers himself back into the water, "So you'd like to bind yourself to me."

 

"Wait, what? No, that's not what I-"

 

A snicker leaves Lance's mouth and he splashes a bit of water onto Keith's face, "It's a joke. I know of promises."

 

"You stupid fish." Keith says, unamused. 

 

He debates leaving, returning to his small shelter and pretending there is a wall between them.

 

But Lance reaches forward and grasps his hand, "I've helped you survive for a full moon cycle on the sea. I've brought you to a lagoon only merfolk are meant to know of. You have my  _name."_

 

"And you have mine." Keith raises a brow and uses his other hand to touch his head, where a scar has formed from the attack on the Empire's ship, "That doesn't mean you won't grow hungry and snap at my-"

 

"If I give you a promise, it will be painful."

 

"Painful?" Keith slides his hand from Lance's, "For you or me?"

 

The look he receives is answer enough.

 

"Why does it need to be painful?" Keith continues, "Just give me the words and i'll try to believe you."

 

"That is not how my people promise." Lance looks hesitant, as if he were giving too much information away, "Words can be forgotten. Scars cannot."

 

Keith stares at him, watching as the blue of his entire being glows, creating shadows and dips and pretty little reflections of the water. Around them, night birds sing distant songs, the silent beach giving nothing but the occasional brush of gentle water onto sand. 

 

"What does this scar entail?" Keith eventually asks, "You want to stab me?"

 

Lance snorts, "Of course not."

 

"Well-"

 

"I want to  _bite_ you."

 

And that's the breaking of the chain. Keith pushes away from Lance and gets to his feet, taking several steps back toward the surrounding trees. 

 

"You think I'll fall for this?" Keith bends to pick up the sharpened spear of wood he'd crafted hours earlier, "The moment your teeth come near my flesh is the moment this spear enters yours."

 

Lance's fins shudder and he glowers, eyes narrowing to a shimmer, "I know no other way to keep this promise."

 

"A clasping of our hands! The power of our words, belief in our own ability to not break them!"

 

"My people need something physical!" Lance snaps, "Something to show us that a promise is real, that it can be kept."

 

Tense air returns to them just as it does every time they bicker. It threatens to suffocate Keith, to make him clench his fists and want to turn the other way. 

 

He breathes hard and holds his spear tight, eyes roaming Lance's face, searching for anything that shows ill intentions or a barely concealed lie. 

 

"We can exchange something." Keith tries through clenched teeth, "No biting or simple words. But an object of some sort."

 

"You have nothing of value."

 

Keith bites his lips, the thought that enters his mind so ridiculous he'd probably laugh if he weren't taking this so seriously. If he weren't desperate for his own safety. 

 

With a breath released, full of finality, Keith drops his spear and strides forward. He gets to his knees and reaches behind his neck, feeling the clasp of his locket with trembling fingers. When he opens his eyes and holds it up between them, he sees the locket reflected in Lance's wide eyes.

 

"This is special to me." Keith feels his voice shake, "I've never taken it off. _Never_."

 

Lance leans away, voice shocked, "Don't take it off now. Give me something else. Carve me something-"

 

"I have to _stay alive_ , Lance." Keith is growing desperate, "I have to finish my task for the Em-"

 

He squeezes his eyes shut before continuing.

 

"I have to live and do what needs to be done. To protect the people I care for and I can't have you killing me now. I promise to never hurt you, to spear you or-"

 

Lance's hand finds Keith's and wraps tight, the locket held between both of their fingers. Keith opens his eyes with a shock and looks at him, imploring him to understand just how large this act is. Just how serious Keith is.

 

"I'll take it." Lance's voice is soft, no doubt fearful of the erratic words that had flowed from Keith's mouth, "If this is what you give for your promise, I'll take it."

 

Keith nods and waits for Lance to bring it to his own neck, for the silver to glint in the air before falling upon his dark chest.

 

"I have no jewels or riches and I've already gifted you a pearl." Lance bobs closer and lets his hands find the ground, muscles bunching as he brings himself up, "Though there is something  _else_ I can give. Something precious to me, something that won't fade from you unless you truly wish it."

 

"I don't want any scars from you-"

 

"Not a scar." Lance whispers, cold breath fanning over Keith's lips, "But it will be shown on your skin all the same."

 

Realization pours into Keith like a crashing wave but instead of panic, instead of the fear of sharp teeth or razor claws, there is only anticipation. A quiver of his fingers, stutter of his breath, flutter of his lashes as Lance draws ever closer.

 

"I will continue to keep you from harm. To help you live." Lance says as Keith reaches a hand up to brace himself on the Siren, feeling soft skin and the satin smooth scales on his upper arm, "Do you accept my promise?" 

 

"Yes." Keith breathes almost instantly, a bit too eager, the fire that has sat dormant in his stomach flaring to life like an inferno.

 

He shuts his eyes, suddenly wanting nothing more than _this_.

 

Lance closes the distance between them but instead of soft lips upon his own, Keith feels them just beneath his jaw. On the junction between his throat and ear, soft and cold, refreshing in a way that leaves him gasping for breath. He feels Lance's eyelashes brush his jaw, like a flutter of moth wings. Keith grips Lance's arm tight, uncaring if he's pressing too hard. Uncaring of anything but this strange feeling of a tongue tracing his skin, of another person touching him so intimately for the first time in his entire life.

 

He dips his head until he can breathe in Lance's skin, close enough to his own neck that he could press his lips there if he wanted to-

 

But Lance is pulling back.

 

Like a spell falling away, Keith takes a gulp of air and straightens. His hair brushes Lance's shoulder before the Siren lowers himself back into the water, looking for all the world just as flushed as Keith.

 

And it's suddenly so unreal, so entirely otherworldly, that Keith is laughing. He reaches a hand up and feels for his neck, fingers brushing over a smooth little patch. Lance follows the motion and Keith watches a shudder run through his fins, his eyes seeming to shine just a bit brighter, marks on his cheeks flashing like a solar storm.

 

Suddenly, the Siren's face morphs. Where once Keith could only see a threat, a dangerous predator simply playing with his food, now there is something else. Something _more._ Lance's gills are opening and closing in a quick pace on his abdomen, jaw tense and eyes imploring, looking several years younger and all the more innocent; trustful and full of hope. 

 

"Don't break your promise, Keith." Lance brings a hand to brush against the locket now on his chest, "Because I take them very seriously."

 

"Well," Keith lets out another chuckle and tries to calm down, to get rid of this giddy feeling that has taken over him, "Lucky for you, I've never made a promise quite like _that_."

 

Lance trills an indignant sound and water flies through the air, hitting Keith in the face. 

***

 

To say the next few days are slightly awkward would be an understatement. Keith washes himself in one of the fresh water pools, feet kicking before he ducks down completely, letting the cool water surge over his head. He's already eaten more oysters than he should and caught up on his sleep, shelter close to finished and teeth clean from a strange little mint plant he'd found hidden away near a nest of vibrant berries.

  
But all of this means nothing compared to the reminder on his neck, the skin feeling so similar to one of Lance's scales that he fears the Siren had somehow melded one onto his skin.

  
He lets bubbles rise from his mouth and brings his fingers back to his neck for the upteenth time, wishing he had some sort of mirror.

 

Is his skin blue? Does it shine?

  
The thoughts send a pleasant little thrill through his body, though he'd never let it be known to Lance. What is he supposed to tell him?

  
_Oh, I believe I have feelings for you. Can you believe it? One moment I thought you'd kill me and now I want nothing more than for you to-_

  
With a shake of his head, Keith surfaces and takes a deep breath, blaming such thoughts on his own naivety. It's his fault that he's never pursued someone before, that he's never ventured to a brothel. Now all of his built up tension, his longing for some deeper feeling, is catching up to him in the form of a fucking  _fish_.

  
It's a hopeless situation and he knows it. 

  
The air is warm but not unbearable when he rises from the water and picks up his pants, sliding them on in one simple flourish.

  
Lance has been gone for hours, no doubt sleeping on the bottom of the lagoon. The sun, while he swore felt nice, could sometimes become unbearable for a Siren. Too dry, he'd said, and much too bright no matter how pretty it tended to be.

  
Keith runs a hand through his soaked hair and heads toward his shelter, proud at how it has come along. The roof is sturdy, covered up top by thick wide leaves. The bottom is similar and stacked full of soft foliage, an open space left clear of any greenery for when he chooses to build a fire.

  
Which, he hasn't as of yet.

  
He tells himself it's because he has no fish to cook. He has no need to boil water, to clean it for drinking.

  
But he remembers the look in Lance's eye when he'd first mentioned it, the fear he found staring back at him. And it makes him hesitate, even now, as he glances toward the salt water pool. Wide enough for several people, the blue water doesn't even ripple.

  
Keith lets out a slow sigh and bends to pick up his spear, deciding that he'd have to eat some other form of protein eventually.

  
He can't live on oysters forever.

  
The thought has him sneaking through the thick jungle, looking for any living creature other than the birds so far above him. While pretty, there's no doubt that killing one would bring the entire flock on his head.

  
Walking further than he has in days, he spots flowers blooming in colors of orange and red, several pink and even more yellow. Insects fly about but mostly leave him alone and he's extremely thankful, considering the last time he'd been on an island with no tavern or human population, the mosquito's threatened to send the entire crew to the pits of hell. 

  
Keith smirks at the thought of his many adventures. Of the freedom he'd gained once he'd left the clutches of the man who'd taken him in the first place. He tries to shake away the memory of the blood that had coated his skin, the smell of gunpowder and Shiro's scream-

  
In a moment, Keith is tumbling. He lets out a yelp and falls forward, hands bracing to catch on anything; vines or rocks or tough rooted plants. To no avail, he slides until he fears he's fallen into some volcano because there's no possible way an island like this could have caverns or coves. 

 

Eventually, however, he lands in a huff. No scorching flame or lava burns at his skin and he lets out a breathy laugh that quickly turns to a hiss. He brings his hand to his forehead and winces, feeling the blood long before he sees it. And further, on his cheek, he feels a drop trickle with heat to the hollow of his throat. 

 

He's lost his spear but he tries not to worry about it as he stands, taking in the pit he's fallen in to. His vision blurs for a moment and he braces himself on a wall of compact dirt, blinking away the sting of tears. Smells of damp earth and salty water, sand and some dead creature, fill his nose. 

 

"Fuck." Keith coughs, glancing up toward the sky. 

 

He's deep. 

 

Very deep. 

 

With a shake of his head, ridding himself of leaves, he chances a look around. The pit is circular but doesn't seem to lead anywhere else, no deeper or wider than what he can see. He takes a few steps forward and looks for any sort of ledge he can use as a step. He feels with his hands and almost shouts in thanks at the feel of a thick vine rooted in the ground, one he can use to pull himself up-

 

Something glitters bright in his peripheral.

 

He whips his head to the left and narrows his eyes, trying to catch where the flash came from. Left to right and back again, until the palms above sway in just the right way and let loose a beam of sunlight.

 

Shuffling forward, Keith immediately drops to his knees and begins to dig, feeling something cold and hard beneath his fingers. He pulls it up and lands back on his ass, eyes wide as he stares down at his discovery; At the locked chest, covered in intricate detail, covered in gold and ruby. If his crew were here, they would try to slam it into rock. They'd stab and pry, do anything to get it open. 

 

Instead, Keith stands and cradles it close, the heaviness of it practically _warning_ him to be gentle. He turns back to his vine and rips it from the dirt, glancing up again at the sky, wondering if it would hold him now with the extra weight. 

 

But Keith has never been one to wait and think things through.

 

He simply grabs hold with one hand, digs his foot into the wall with another, and grits his teeth. His muscles are weaker than he'd like and his head is pounding, breath leaving him in short pants. The vine creaks the longer he hangs on it, eyes flitting from his own position to the edge of the pit. Below him, as the minutes tick and he struggles to climb, the sand and soil is becoming damp. As if the tide of the evening were drifting beneath, threatening to send the entire hole into a flood. 

 

" _C'mon._ " Keith grunts, hoisting the chest high above his head before sending it over.

 

He pushes and pushes, legs aching just as much as his arms. 

 

And then, with the dizzy blur of his eyes returning, he's over. He scrambles onto solid ground and pushes himself and the chest further away, crawling as far as he can before getting to his feet. He picks the chest up and runs, eager to get away from the pit and the rising water. 

 

He doesn't stop until he's returned to his shelter and the pools, to a soft hum and the splash of a fin in water. He takes several steps through the trees and makes to call out, to show Lance what he's found-

 

But he stumbles. 

 

The ache in his head is overpowering, all-encompassing. 

 

And with one final blurry blink at Lance, at his shocked expression, everything goes dark. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question: would you all like the chapters to be shorter? I feel like I tend to make them a bit too long but I'm not sure.
> 
> I've decided that the only POVs this story will have are: Keith, Lance, Hunk, and Shiro. Otherwise I feel like it'll be just...too confusing or something. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're enjoying and thank you for reading!!!


	8. Chapter 8

 

  
Lance's fingers are stained with blood.

 

It's a sharp smell filtering through the air, one that makes his teeth unsheathe and his pulse race. If he truly wanted to, he could easily lean down and lick nice and slow until his craving is sated. It would coat his teeth and spread on his tongue, could tame the need to feed in brutality. 

 

Instead, Lance simply keeps Keith's hair pushed back and lifts another soft petal to his forehead, pressing his fingers hard into the wound. Whatever Keith had been doing, or what had been done to him, successfully reopened the gash on his head. The blood is dark and it stains, some drops having trailed all the way from his temple to his neck and further, to the grass below. Lance leans closer and uses his tail for leverage, sea water dropping onto Keith's dirt-stained chest. He slides his eyes to the strange box near his shelter for the umpteenth time but finds that he can't think much of it; he's simply too worried.

 

And that, to him, is strange.

 

To worry over a human is unheard of. To fret and trill like a nervous lover? It's _wrong_.

 

Or so they say.

 

Lance won't deny that the past few days have left him as confused as ever. The stories, and what he's seen of humankind personally, have all proven to be true. They're cruel and vile, eager to rip scales from fins to decorate their own bodies and belongings; like a dark mirror to the pure gold the merfolk wear during special occasions. Lance had seen Allura's scars, knows of Alfor's murder and yet-

 

Looking down at Keith, Lance feels something prod at his chest. He's been unconscious for hours, long enough for the sun to lower itself to an unseen horizon. The blood has slowed enough but Lance still hovers, ears flicking at the slightest movement; a twitch of a finger, the shudder of his eyelids. He doesn't even know if the petals are _working_. He brushes webbed finger along the outer rim, the white color resting just above Keith's thick eyebrow. For merfolk, the petal can work wonders. It can stop the flow of blood, keep the wound from becoming infected, help their skin heal and seal.

 

But will it work for a human?

 

The question is tugging at his mind, urging him to re-submerge his body until water laps at his abdomen. He crosses his arms and places his chin on top, eyes wide as he watches Keith's face. If the boy were awake, Lance wonders if he'd find the staring unsettling.

 

He lets a small smile bloom at the thought.

 

***

 

On nightfall of the second day, Keith still hasn't woken. Lance trills and pushes at him, breath leaving his body in worried pants. He splashes water on his cheeks, pokes at his ribs, takes to braiding his hair with overly sharp tugs.

 

No response.

 

It's infuriating and Lance can feel his temper flare, as if Keith were doing all of this on purpose. As if he were simply joking, reflected Lance's usual playful acts with one of his own. But merfolk are known for their short patience, their haughtiness and stubborn tendencies. Lance uses his strength and frustration to tug Keith closer to the water pool, hands cupped beneath his arms. He pushes himself to sit on the ground, tail trailing down in a heavy swoop.

 

The moon is out tonight and it is high, full and bright and washing over Lance's skin like a balm. He lets Keith's head fall into his lap, feeling the soft tresses of his hair tickle at his scales. He watches as strands fall between his fingers, sliding along the opalescent webbing in swaths of brown and black and bits of deep red. It's a relaxing motion and Lance finds comfort in it, the repetition easing his worries as the minutes pass. 

 

Around them, the lagoon's birds sing soft songs, the sounds echoing and bouncing. Lance hums and tilts his head, trailing a clawed finger away from Keith's petal to the crease of his eyebrow. There's a few hairs missing but Lance can tell that it's an old wound. His trills a small laugh at the sight, if only because it's on the same side as the one on his temple. He continues his exploration, tracing a patch of freckles on the crest of his cheek before finding the tip of his nose, pressing down once in curiosity.

 

It seems that, regardless of Lance's gills, their noses could potentially work the same. But it's a weird thought, one that he doesn't truly want to test. Even now his chest is stinging, not enough to send him back to the water but just enough to make him uncomfortable.

 

His tail shifts, sending ripples running the length of his scales, the slosh of water that follows relaxing. It makes Lance's own eyes droop, fins running along his arms and waist soon settling against his skin. 

 

Keith groans, making Lance rip his hand away from the patterns he'd begun to trace. It's a shocking sound and it startles him, eyes widening at the thought that Keith could finally be waking up.

 

But within another second, he's back to being silent.

 

Completely still.

 

Scowling, Lance resorts to placing his hand back into Keith's hair. He lets his fingers sit on his scalp, his other hand splaying flat onto the ground beside him, allowing his spine to relax just a bit of tension. He takes to humming, the act as familiar as swimming.

 

At first, he hums a thoughtless tune. Something light and fun, a bit silly but calming nonetheless. And then it morphs but Lance doesn't really notice what he's starting to sing until it's falling free from his lips, picked up easily though he didn't want to admit it before. Merfolk learn songs fast and once it's heard, it will remain with them forever. And he supposes the words are pretty even if they _were_ created by human's. His voice is a bit softer than Keith's and definitely more eerie, though to other merfolk Lance knows his voice sounds just fine. One of the nicest, if he were being honest.

 

The more he sings of the song, the more reaction he gets. It starts in small motion; the flutter of Keith's lashes, the bobbing of his pale throat, a sharp rise and fall of his chest. Lance pushes Keith's head just a bit higher on his lap, until his nose or mouth could brush his stomach if he only turned his head.

 

But Keith doesn't move much after that.

 

And it's driving Lance mad.

 

***

 

Lance hasn't slept well.

 

He stays beneath the water for good portions of the day but his time is mostly spent fishing. He claws into the silver bellied creatures and swallows them with fervor, keeping his appetite from spinning out of control.

 

When he's not devouring his own food, he's searching diligently for Keith's. He can't get full oysters down his throat and the thought of shoving kelp between his teeth seems unrealistic. He's lucky he's even managed to wring fresh water from the undersea sponges between the boy's lips, using his thumb and forefinger to help. It's difficult, Lance admits, trying to hold Keith up well enough to keep him from choking.

 

But Lance does it anyway and with each drop of water into Keith's parched mouth, he feels victorious. Now, Lance surges through the lagoon with determination, hair pushed away from his sharp face. His ears twitch at a distant burst of noise and he stops near a garden of bright pink kelp, small orange and yellow fish fluttering about in constant patterns.

 

The noise rises again and Lance tilts his head, hair floating about his face with the swaying water. He holds the coral spear he'd found tighter in his grip, the dusty white material sharpened naturally by time and tide. Nothing large should be able to get through the cliffs and Lance listens harder, wondering if perhaps some poor creature is simply stuck. If they've become impaled by the push of a stormy wave onto the rocks.

 

But then it comes again and this time it sounds distant, like it's simply roaming around the outer perimeter. Lance lets his gills filter a gush of water and he loosens his jaw, sharp teeth shifting to a partial-state. Still good for tearing at flesh but not so prominent.

 

With a soft trill of his own, Lance dives deeper and watches a small school of sea brim scatter. Luckily for them, Lance has already eaten his fill. He shoots by and turns to his back, watching his long tail sway with strength. Bubbles rise and he grins, just once, before flipping back to his stomach and continuing on.

 

He wanders toward the seaweed bed, the shooting green forest not as dangerous as those resting within the cliffs but still quite large. They brush by his body and he likes the texture, suddenly more than eager to rid his scales of days worth of built up sand and dirt. He goes about picking a few, eyes finding those that appear the strongest and the slimiest. Next, he swims closer to the beach and digs for a rough shell, one with a perfectly flattened side. Satisfied, he swims with ease through another school of fish and finds the familiar sea sponge nest near the bottom of the reef. He grabs one and checks for age, making sure the spores are wide enough to have filtered the water into a fresher state.

 

He takes his route back to the pools and heaves all of his findings onto the land, eyes blinking fast to rid themselves of the hazy blur. Once clear, he eagerly looks to Keith as if the boy would be sitting up, waiting patiently for Lance's return.

 

There is only silence.

 

With a huff Lance places his spear to the side and pushes himself up, twisting his body and tail in a pretty spin. Safely seated, he picks up the shell he'd found and runs it over his scales, picking at the creases that keep the flesh beneath safe from harm. It's tedious but he finds it enjoyable, always having been a bit particular about his looks. It's not conceited, he's assured many people before, but there's nothing wrong with wanting to look nice.

 

"I wish I had my mother's scents with me," Lance speaks aloud after a short time, "she made our home smell like the realm of the Oracle. The pouches would float about the place, shifting from something fresh to something heavy and spicy."

 

He glances at Keith but the boy remains dormant.

 

"I might be able to get some sea cucumber, though." Lance continues while he scrubs, "It's fresh in the core, much better than most others. My sister once placed an entire bundle of rotten kelp into her pod mother's bungalow. It took _eons_ for the woman to get the stench out but sea cucumber definitely helped speed it up."

 

He trills at the memory, "I liked my pod mother very much. She would bring us kelp cakes and fresh starfish, tasty if it's cut just right. But there's no other merfolk that can feed me like my own mother. When I wasn't with my pod, learning the ways of our people, my mother was filling my belly with all sorts of things. That's how she met Allura's parents, you know. They asked for her sea-lily rolls specifically." He feels his fins deflate at the thought of his friend, of his mom and the gentle past that used to exist in his kingdom, "But times change, don't they? Comfort like that doesn't last forever."

 

After this proclamation, Lance falls silent.

 

And after another few hours, he grabs his seaweed and places it at his hip, letting it settle in either hand before trailing it down. It soothes the scales and releases a slimy film, which washes away in time to show just how much his scales can _really_ shine.

 

***

 

"Please." Lance peels the latest petal from Keith's forehead, " _Please_ be better."

 

It comes away easier than those before it, the sticky blood no longer a thick coat. He debates closing his eyes first, telling himself it would be better to smell the infection before seeing it. But his hand has already removed the wilted petal and before he can stop it, he's looking.

 

His breath leaves his gills in a painful push, "Thank the Oracle." He bends and rests his forehead on Keith's, "It's much better."

 

Eyes closing, Lance lets a trickle of hope settle on his shoulders. The wound has stopped bleeding and though the gash is still red and raw, it's definitely no longer open. The skin around it is bruised but otherwise uninfected. He lets himself rest against Keith, nose pushed into his hair, forehead becoming a bit damp from the perspiration on the boy's skin.

 

But Lance doesn't mind.

 

He likes it.

 

His sleepless days have left him with less energy than usual and it's all catching up to him now, threatening to send him back into the water, to swim to the depths and bury into the sand. But the thought of leaving Keith alone, with no protection, makes him toss the thoughts away.

 

With a furrowing of his brows, Lance opens his eyes with the intent to push more of the sea sponge water into the boy's mouth.

 

But suddenly, upside down, his gaze is met with that of Keith's. His iris's are dark but this close they're almost violet, gray specks scattered throughout like a littering of stars. Lance pulls back with a sharp chirp, fins expanding and ears twitching forward, face no doubt lit up like the sun.

 

"Are you alive?" He questions, watching as Keith's mouth turns down in a small frown, "You are alive, aren't you? I've seen merfolk die and their eyes have remained wide open but yours don't look quite like theirs-"

 

"When you find the cucumber, can I eat some?"

 

The question throws Lance off guard. For a full minute, he completely forgets that he'd mentioned the cucumbers at all. It was yesterday around noon that he'd said anything about them and yet-

 

"You can try, I suppose." Lance continues to stare at him, watching as he turns his head on Lance's lap, before narrowing his eyes into sharp slits, "Since it seems yo _u were listening to me all along_."

 

"I wasn't being sneaky, if that's what you're worried about. Sometimes when our body needs time to heal, it forces us to remain asleep. We can hear but we can't reply...it's like our brain traps us within ourselves." His voice trails off at the end, as if he'd used more strength than he should have to explain himself.

 

Lance scrunches his nose, "That sounds dreadful."

 

Keith just hums and lets his cheek rest on Lance's tail, smooth scale to human flesh, "Your tail is cold."

 

Lance's hands rise and he doesn't know where to place them, unsure if he should continue touching the boy at all.

 

"Yes." Lance's cheeks flame, "And your skin is quite warm."

 

"It feels nice." Keith's eyes are a bit hazy, almost delirious, "I like it."

 

Lance lets out another chirp, though this one is higher pitched; embarrassing and not controlled at all. His gut flutters at the warm breath on his navel, softer than the feel of flowing seaweed and much, _much_ warmer.

 

"You can keep going," Keith raises a weak hand to motion to his hair, "if you'd like."

 

"Are you alright?" Lance raises a thin brow, "Are you aware of what you're saying?"

 

"It's not like i'm _drunk_ , you silly fish." Keith's voice holds humor even when his eyes slide shut, "Just tired."

 

"You've slept for days!"

 

"That wasn't my choice." Keith lets out another sigh and his breath reaches Lance's stomach again, "But now it is."

 

The change from consciousness to sleep is quick and Lance is exasperated. He's exasperated and confused and flushed with color like an underwater geyser. But he puts his fingers back to Keith's hair anyway, turning his eyes to the treeline and the glimmering pools, making himself look anywhere but at the boy sleeping soundly in his lap.

 

***

 

Keith wakes just as Lance is getting ready to dip beneath the water, orange sunlight filtering from the minuscule spaces between the palm leaves above. It hits Keith's pale skin and shines against the perspiration, casting a pretty glow against the crest of his lips.

 

"I'll be back." Lance says, wondering if the crease between Keith's brows is there because he's worried, "I need to sleep. Just for a few hours."

 

"Go on, then." Keith winces and raises a hand to his temple, touching at the raised skin.

 

The air is quiet, early morning fog wafting around them like a blanket. Lance wades, tail flowing in smooth strokes, wondering if the tense feeling settling between them is felt only by himself. He expects Keith to say something about before, about his sleep on Lance's tail or the way in which he woke, Lance's slit pupils staring at him from upside down.

 

But the boy seems set on looking away, fingers moving to touch at the braids Lance had woven elegantly near his ears.

 

"If you wouldn't have woken by tomorrow I was going to eat you." Lance tries for some sort of conversation, "I'm growing tired of the same boring fish."

 

Keith scoffs but still doesn't look at him, "Sure."

 

"I _was_." Lance tries to sound threatening but it falls flat, too forced now that these softer moments have begun to form between them.

 

He thinks there's some truth to his words, that maybe if Keith really did remain asleep for too long his primal urges would overtake him and he'd sink his teeth into his neck. But then he glances at the smooth blue patch on Keith's jaw and he feels his breath hitch, the reminder making him regret the thoughts almost immediately. 

 

"How did you get me to the pool, anyway? I remember falling near the trees."

 

Lance blinks as if the answer were obvious, "I dragged you."

 

"What?"

 

"I dragged you." Lance repeats, "You hit the ground hard so I used my tail to push me forward and grab your foot. You're quite heavy, you know."

 

He wonders if Keith can picture it in his head, if he sees Lance in a monstrous fashion; jaw unhinged, teeth jagged and protruding, fins flared with predatory intent.

 

Lance wonders if it scares him.

 

When Keith doesn't reply, only groans and rises to shaky feet, Lance decides that he'll be alright without his company for a while. He lets his gills puff and take in water, readying himself to go under.

 

But just before his shoulders wet completely, Keith  calls out to him, "Lance." He waits for Lance to meet his eye, "Thank you." 

 

His voice is quiet and kind of scratchy, in need of food and more water, but genuine. 

 

"I promised, didn't I?" Lance says, fingers brushing the locket resting on his chest, "I won't let you die."

 

And for all of Lance's doubts regarding his self-control, he lets a quick smile settle on his face before disappearing into the water below. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you sure about that, Lance?  
> Let's hope he is.
> 
> Anyway, sorry this chapter took so long to upload! Thank you if you've been patient, I seriously appreciate it. I hope you keep reading and enjoying this story!
> 
> The next chapter will be a bit shorter but it will be from a new point of view :)


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